


Lonely, Lonely Little Life

by oh_ms_omegalomaniac



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Brendon Is An Idiot, Depression, F/M, Human Trafficking, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of scars, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Referenced Child Abuse, Sadness, Self Harm, Servants, Slavery, Slaves, Suicide Attempt, abandoned work, and by ronnie radke, and funny ish, and i feel so bad for writing this, anyway, as usual, but a lovable idiot, cameos from just about everybody in bandom, cody carson motherfuckers, dallon is tall, did i mention that before, discontinued, frank needs to get his shit together, gerard is mute, i am #trash, i kinda suck, im not good at funny, im sorry for even writing this, patrick is terrfied, pete is really confused, shit is gonna get real, these tags are the worst, very slow, very slowly, very slowly developing relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 37
Words: 55,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2569424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_ms_omegalomaniac/pseuds/oh_ms_omegalomaniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Human slavery isn't pretty. It's horrible and lonely and unhappy. </p><p>But sometimes friends can be found. </p><p>Brendon, Gerard and Patrick have it pretty bad, yeah. But they have each other.</p><p>Dallon, Frank and Pete have everything they could want, sure. But they hate every moment of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Of Tiger Sharks and Pilot Fish](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2161182) by [lostonthisisland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostonthisisland/pseuds/lostonthisisland). 



> Disclaimer: This is only based on existing real people- it is a work of fiction and is about characters who resemble real people. Please don't harass any real people or friends/relatives of real people about shipping.
> 
> I've made the decision to permanently abandon and discontinue this work. I'm leaving it up on the site, but there will be no more updates. I'm super sorry to everyone who enjoyed this work and has been invested in it- your comments and feedback have meant the world to me and I really appreciate all the support I've been given by you guys, you've been amazing.
> 
> I have decided to stop writing this fic for two reasons, but before I list them, I'd just like to put it out there that these are my personal decisions and I do not judge/condemn anyone for doing these things! I have just grown and changed as a person and me continuing this fic doesn't fit with those changes. So basically I don't really feel comfy with writing real person fiction anymore- again, it's a personal thing that I don't condemn others for doing, I just don't want to do it anymore. Secondly, it was not great of me to write this fic in the first place with a setting of slavery, so I'm not going to be finishing this.
> 
> If you have any questions or anything about the fic or anything else, I'd love to talk to you- my tumblr is ohmsomegalomaniac :) Thank you for all of your support for this story!

Darkness. 

They can't see the scared faces only inches from their own. It's warm and sweaty and fearful inside the tiny room and the only sound is that of their breaths taken in and out, in and out. No one, not even Brendon with his mischievous smile and quick witticisms, dares to speak. This will be the day that they are sold- for some, the first time, for some, not. 

A single crack of light shoots through the room before the door is ripped roughly open, followed by such bright light that the dozen boys have to cover their eyes as a man storms in. 

"Up! Market opens in two hours and you all need to be cleaned up. C'mon, get up, get up!"

He leaves before the boys can drag themselves up, yelling as he does. There are so many more rooms like theirs, so many more teens to be woken.

"Hurry up!"

Brendon bounces up first of the group, ridiculously full of energy despite having not gotten any sleep the previous night. (Night? Day? Everything became a little fuzzy in the pitch black room.) The hard floor, rough shackles and numerous injuries around the room makes sleeping difficult. 

Grinning, the dark haired boy extends a hand for his blond friend and carefully helps the injured boy up. 

Patrick didn't adjust well to being a slave, having lived a perfectly happy free life for the first of his fifteen years. The whip scars on his back and ankle that was broken to stop him from escaping show that. Every part of him aches as he rises but he manages a grateful smile for Brendon. 

The black-haired boy curled up on the floor near them rises quickly and silently, nodding to Brendon. Gerard... Gerard doesn't talk. Ever. Brendon and Patrick have no idea how long he's been a slave- his whole life, probably. The faded scars on his cheeks and neck are from far back in the past but those spiraling down his torso are from far more recent times. He communicates with the others in his own quiet way, though. He'll draw when he can or just sign in their own little made up language. Brendon created it, mostly, in the many hours they’ve spent together in the crowded room. From whatever he could think up and whatever he could remember from that deaf Master three or four years ago. 

Brendon's been a lot of places, been owned by a lot of people. The boy has been in slavery for as long as he knows- he can't remember sleeping alone in his own bed. Still he smiles.  
Jokes, sarcasm, witty shows of defiance that are certainly not worth the scars and bruises. 

Them and dozens of other teens have been living in the tiny rooms for up to a month and haven't showered once in that time. The hands of the assistants are quick and rough but it's a good feeling to be clean again. 

Brendon's chestnut coloured hair is now shiny and Gerard silently plays with the locks as they wait for Patrick to finish. The woman helping the blond boy wash is kind, gentle, slow, careful not to aggravate the sores and scars on his back. 

Each teen- girls and boys, all aged between fifteen and seventeen years old- are given simple black clothing for modesty's sake. A woman distributes the slave collars, each showing personal information such as previous Masters and the like. The leather is rough and heavy and Patrick still fidgets with his but Gerard and Brendon simply ignore the weight. They're used to them. 

"In line, c'mon, hurry up, market opens soon." 

Barking orders, the tall man from before directs the group to their individual cages and there they wait. 

~~~

"I don't want a slave." 

Dallon Weekes towers over his parents- he has no idea how that even works but somehow long lost genetics have given him this gift. They stare up at him in frustration. Both share his dark hair and brown eyes, but the similarities stop there. High society snobs that think slaves are animals, his parents are. Not Dallon. No fucking way. 

"It's tradition. It's a gift!" 

His mother is pleading now to stop him from making a scene and the tall boy sighs inwardly. They're not going to change their minds now, not when they're standing outside the gates of the market waiting for the Wentz and Iero families. 

"You can treat the thing however you want when you leave home, Dallon. We're giving you a damn apartment for your sixteenth, why can't you indulge us and just go along with something we want for once?!" 

Dallon shrugs angrily but is saved from replying by the loud arrival of the Wentz family. 

"Patricia! Steven! It's so good to see you! Is Dallon excited for today?" 

Pete looks absolutely exasperated as he drags his beaming mother towards the Weekes'. 

"She has not stopped talking. I swear to god, loud music isn't going to turn me deaf like Mum thinks- she will. There's a reason I hide in my room all the time!" 

Laughing, Dallon grins at his friend and together they begin to complain about their parents. 

"A slave! I know it's tradition blah blah expected blah blah blah but seriously. I don't want to own another human being." 

The shorter teen rolls his eyes in agreeance and together they stare into the crowded markets. 

"I know. It's going to be so awkward... Mum and Dad treat our slaves like shit so the poor things have never wanted to go near me. I don't know how to communicate with one!" 

"Oh, yeah. Hey, Frank's here!" 

The Iero family make their way over to the others in stoic silence, none wishing to speak. Frank's mother's face is red with anger and her son joins his friends with a scowl. 

"Hey, Frankie!" 

As the three families begin to walk Dallon and Pete attempt to cheer up the surly Frank and by the time they reach the first lot of cages, he's laughing along with them. His friends are closer to him than his family- not too difficult to do with such a distant father and permanently angry mother. 

"Boys, see any you like and we'll get them, kay?" 

Pete's mother grins like she’s offering the boys the best gift of their life and the trio take the chance to hurriedly get away from their families. All are ecstatic, so ecstatic, to be moving out. Three rooms next door to each other in some apartment building miles from home has never sounded so good. 

Dallon hates the markets. He avoids them as much as he can- the scared, hopeless faces of countless slaves make him sick. That's why he's keeping his eyes on the ground and starts when Frank taps him on the shoulder. 

"Hey, I saw one I liked over there. Can we go back?"

"Yeah, sure." 

The slave in question is a ridiculously thin boy a little taller than Frank himself. Dallon and Pete try not to stare at the harsh scars slashing down the teen's cheekbones, the pale white lines of hurt dripping down his neck and torso. 

~~~

Patrick's hand is pale in Gerard's as the two exchanges glances. Three boys in front of them, one looking very interested in Gerard. 

"I want that one, with the scars."

The face of the teen staring at Gerard is contorted into a grimace as he speaks to who must be his friends. 

"Oh... okay. Cool. Um." 

The other two boys, one tall and dark and one shorter with bleached blond hair, clearly do not know how to respond and Brendon sighs. 

"First of us, Gee. Didn't predict that." 

Gerard shrugs and smiles sadly. 

"You know what would be cool? Getting bought by friends. Y’know, so we could maybe hopefully see each other!" 

Brendon proposes the idea with a wide grin and the other two slaves slowly nod, minds whirling. Being able to stay together…

"That's.. that's not a bad idea. How do we get them to buy us?" 

"Easy, Trick. Hey you, tall one! Buy me!" 

The dark haired boy turns to Brendon and is seemingly alarmed by the slave's words. 

"Um.. what?" 

"You heard me. Buy me! Seriously! I'm cute, cook like a dream, speak like three and a half  
languages, do stand epic up comedy and fuck like you won’t-" 

Disbelieving laughter drowns out the rest of Brendon's words and he grins to see the boy in front of him smiling widely.

"Oh, how could I resist a resume like that?" "I have more credentials if you want to hear them!" 

Dallon shakes his head, grinning. 

"Nah, I'm good. So, Pete, we've decided, who do you want?" 

~~~

Dallon has never had a slave talk to him like that. Ever. 

It's hilarious. 

How could he not choose the one slave that actually seems to want to be chosen by him? 

"Hey, bleach blond!" 

The funny slave chimes in again. 

"If you're looking for someone nice I'd take that kid." 

He points to the blond next to him and grins widely as Pete, Frank and Dallon's eyes follow. 

"Pretty face, hey? Sings good too." 

Dallon and Frank's eyes turn to Pete. The blond slave's eyes are trained on him, Pete notices. Fearful, terrified, but hopeful. Oh, he gets it! The three slaves are friends and want to be sold to friends. That makes sense. 

"Sure, okay, um, yeah. Mum, Dad, we found some!" 

The adults rush over at the sound of Pete's voice and crowd around the cages. 

"Oh, good. Thank you, sir?" 

A grimacing guard takes the money thrust at him and unlocks the doors of the slave enclosures, handing the shackle chains to each of the rich boys. 

Pete watches each of the slaves in turn as they were handed to their owners, interested by each one's expression and movement. The scarred boy, Frank's slave, is silent as his wrist shackles drag him towards his Master. His eyes are downcast but hold a little hope. 

Dallon's, the hyper kid, is bouncing next to the tall boy. He also keeps his eyes respectfully downcast but a smile tugs at his lips. 

And then there was his. 

He hated that so much. 

His. 

Pete owned a human being now- why? How was that even fair?

The blond slave's eyes keep flicking up to his face, obviously trying to gauge his actions. He's in pain, Pete realizes. Limping, tears finding their way out of his deep brown eyes, each breath a gasp. His ankle or foot must be hurt- poor thing.

"Pete, do you want to be taken to your apartment now?" 

Tearing his eyes away from the slaves, Pete nods. 

~~~

As soon as they're in their car, with his parents in the front seat and him and the talkative slave in the back, Dallon begins to speak. 

"Can you drop me off at the apartments? I'm ready to move in and all." 

His parents are still so surprised that Dallon actually went along with the slave thing that they agree immediately. 

"Of course! So, what’s the kid’s name?”

They talk about the slave like he’s not even there and Dallon hates it so much. So, so much. 

“I’m not sure. Hey, what’s your name?”

Brown eyes sparking with mischief meet his and the dark haired slave replies quietly. 

“Brendon.” 

~~~

The drive to Gerard's new home is coldly silent, broken only by the occasional annoyed comments of his Master's mother. He keeps his eyes on the floor and pretends not to notice her anger. She's a slave-basher, he thinks. The thought that his new Master was raised by such a person scares Gerard and he fights to keep from panicking. Everything will be alright. 

No matter how bad it might get, he may be able to see his friends again. 

"You behave, okay?! Behave for my son." 

Gerard closes his eyes as the woman's hand hits him across the face. He was right. 

"Behave, you worthless piece of shit!”

He nods quickly, shying away from the next blow. The woman fixes him in her hawk-like stare and Gerard has to fight to not look away. 

Cold eyes. 

Thankfully, the car arrives at its destination and Gerard quickly bows before scurrying away into the apartment with his new Master.


	2. Chapter 2

Awkward. 

Silence has fallen into Pete's new apartment and it's overwhelming him. He stares at the pale teen in front of him, searching for something to say. When Pete realizes that the boy is still standing he mentally berates himself and speaks up hesitantly. 

"Um.. do you want to sit down? Here, I think we should ice your ankle or something, it looks pretty painful." 

The slave stares back at him, confusion registering on his face. 

"Would it please you if I was seated, Master?" 

Pete nods quickly. 

"Please. I'll be back in a sec, just gotta find some ice." 

He hands the kid a cold pack and grins when he hears the boy's relieved groan. 

"Thank you sir." 

"That's okay." 

The pair sit awkwardly next to each other on the lush couch, the slave nursing his ankle and Pete tapping his foot to a nonexistant beat. He's got too much nervous energy to sit still right now. 

"Um... what's your name? What can I call you?" 

"Whatever you like, Master." 

Pete winces at the use of the title. 

"Please call me Pete. Um, I'd like to call you by your name, if that's okay." 

The blond boy nods slowly. 

"Patrick." 

It's quiet again before Patrick speaks up nervously. 

"Maste- Pete, sorry, could you please tell me what is required of me here?" 

Pete frowns, forehead crinkling. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Am I supposed to cook, or clean, or... perform other services?" 

The slave's voice is shaking a little as he speaks and Pete hates the fear in it. What does Patrick think he's going to do to him? 

Patrick. 

It's a nice name and Pete likes the feel of it.

"Patrick. You don't have to do anything. Nothing, I repeat nothing, is required of you." 

Patrick's eyebrows rise but none of the fear leaves his voice as he speaks again. 

"You... you don't want me to do anything?" 

A laugh escapes Pete's lips and he smiles. 

"Nope. Nothing. If cooking and cleaning and 'other services' are your thing then go ahead, but seriously, I don't care. Sit around and play Fifa all day if you want." 

A thought jumps at the teen and he speaks on it, suddenly curious. 

"Other services?" 

The blond slave loses the little composure he had gained by Pete's earlier words and he stands awkwardly, taking a subtle step backwards. 

"Wait, what is it? What do you mean?" 

Patrick's voice shakes.

"You want to use me?" 

No, no, no, no. No. All Pete wants to do is wrap his arms around Patrick and stop the boy from trembling but he knows that would just make this situation worse.

"No. Definitely not. Never. I'm not going to even touch you, I promise. Look, I'll keep as far away from you as you want. I swear it." 

The disbelief in the slave's eyes sends a sick feeling into Pete's stomach. 

"Really?" 

Hopeful, so hopeful, but wary. Disbelieving.

"I swear on my life." 

~~~

"So, Master. What am I doing here?" 

The amount of sarcasm Brendon puts on the word 'Master' is ridiculous and Dallon fights the urge to laugh as he stares down at the boy. Brendon has been chatting away non-stop since they arrived at the apartment. The two are dragging furniture and suitcases into Dallon's new apartment and the tall boy has hardly been able to get a word in. It's great.

"Well, it's tradition to give a rich kid a slave for their birthday. You're my sweet sixteenth gift." 

The dark-haired slave nods slowly. 

"And? What are you going to do with me?" 

"Uh, nothing? I dunno, what does someone do with a slave? We had some at my parent's house but I never saw them." 

"Well, I've been a normal domestic servant, where I basically cooked and cleaned. Or, a work slave, manual labour and whatever. And of course I've been a pleasure slave." 

Arrogance and humor almost completely hide the fear in Brendon's eyes but Dallon catches the tiniest spark of it. 

"Woah, no. None of that- especially not that pleasure shit. I didn't even want a slave in the first place. You're basically just my room mate who cost money. I'd... I'd like  
us to be friends though." 

"Well. That's unusual." 

For once the dark haired boy has no words and he stares at the carpet. Dallon doesn't know what to say. Too many emotions work their way through Brendon's eyes for him to keep track of. 

"For real? You're not going to..." 

Brendon's voice trails off and skeptism finds him.

"Bullshit." 

Well, what is he supposed to say now? The haunted look that's found its way into Brendon's eyes scares Dallon and he wonders for a few moments what exactly  
the kid has been through. A lot of Masters, obviously. 

"Nah, seriously. I don't want to hurt you. In that way or anyway, seriously." 

Brendon raises his eyebrows. 

"I've had Masters say that to me before. Didn't stop them." 

Sighing, the taller boy smiles hesitantly at the slave. 

"So I'll have to earn your trust. Cool with that! First, please don't call me Master. It's weirding me out. And two, I am really freaking hungry. You want chow?" 

~~~

"What's your name?" 

Frank stared down at the black haired boy- despite being the taller of the two the small slave slumped in his seat- and waited patiently for an answer. None came. 

"Your name! Now!" 

The command slips from his mouth too easily and the boy flinches. Frank has never met a slave that won't talk before. His parents always dealt with the ones they had at home, but he was still asked to help disciplined every now and then. A small part of him hates this- the whole slave thing, the notion of owning a human being- but the rest of the rich boy is conditioned perfectly. Slaves are simply less than freemen. That's how it works, in the Iero household. 

"Name." 

The freeman's irritation hits the slave and his eyes widen in fear. Slowly, the black haired boy meets Frank's eyes. His numb stare is so, so blank and as Frank fights the urge to look away, the boy scribbles something on his calloused palm. Gerard, the messy letters read. 

"Gerard. Huh. I'm Frank." 

~~~

Gerard nods demurely, head bowed. He's going to get hit, now, Gerard thinks. He'll be furious just like all the others that the scarred boy he bought doesn't talk. Gerard waits, anticipating and bracing himself for the hit, but it doesn't come. Instead his Master shrugs. 

"Okay." 

The short teen gets up and wanders away from the table, rummaging through a drawer until he finds a notebook. 

"Here." 

The paper is crisp in Gerard's hands and he can't believe the teen hasn't raged yet, hasn't hit him yet.

"So, Gerard. Last name?" 

Gerard shakes his head. 

"Okay. Age?" 

Gerard shrugs and scrawls something quickly on the page. He shows it to Frank. 

"15, 16? Not sure?" 

The black haired slave nods. He really has no idea how old he is- somewhere around sixteen? He was born into slavery. No need for ages. 

"How many owners have you had?"

The question is a puzzle for Gerard and he mulls it over as his Master stares at him. 7, the notebook reads. 

"Uh... wow. That's a lot." 

Frank is speechless and he leans back on his chair, deep in thought. Why doesn't this kid speak? What's happened to him? 

"So you don't talk." 

Gerard shakes his head quickly and casts his eyes downward. Afraid. 

"That's.. that's okay, I guess. I'm not going to punish you for it, don't worry." 

The slave nods with a practiced expression of acceptance, even though he doesn't believe a word his Master says. Frank says he won't punish him, but give it a day or so. He'll get frustrated. Annoyed with his silent servant. And then the blows will begin. It's happened too many times for Gerard to believe anything. 

~~~

It's so hard sleeping the first night for the three slaves. Patrick curls into the foetal position, protecting himself best as he can, on a mattress in the living room. His Master has promised to get him a bed but all he can think right now is warm, so warm, so unbelievably comfortable. The mattress is too soft compared to the floor of the market rooms. 

He keeps his eyes trained on the door to Pete's bedroom. Eventually fatigue closes Patrick's wary eyes and for the first time in what seems like forever his sleep is undisturbed by a Master. 

Brendon lays spread out on the plush couch, stomach painfully full. Compared to the bread and water they got at the markets the rich fare of burgers and fries  
was delicious. If Dallon is trying to buy his trust, Brendon's cool with that- few more of those meals will do nicely. The brown haired slave traces his ribs as he  
keeps his eyes on the door to Dallon's bedroom. The guy seems nice, friendly. He bought Brendon food and a sleeping bag and the promise of a bed and clothes... too  
good to be true? Hopefully not. 

Gerard sleeps in a corner of the living room with a mountain of pillows and blankets and wonderfully fluffy carpet. A bed isn't promised to him- Gerard's okay with that. The carpet will do nicely. Frank hasn't touched him once, yet, and the black haired slave revels in it. Master has no idea about personal space, sure, but at least he doesn't seem like a slave basher. 

But still, sins of the father(well, mother) and all? Someone raised by assholes like that isn't gonna turn out too good.


	3. Chapter 3

Sunlight. It makes its way inside the living room, creating patterns of light on the face of the boy sleeping on a mattress. It wakes him and he starts awake, sitting up in a second with hands raised defensively. 

There's no one there. 

Patrick sighs in relief and takes a moment to take in his surroundings. Living room. Cream walls, packaged furniture, moving boxes... Pete's apartment and his new home is a little cramped but nice. The little kitchenette is bare but once they get some food in there, it should be better. The carpet is ridiculously soft and Patrick's fingers find it. 

Footsteps from the bedroom opposite the blond boy jolt him out of his thoughts and he looks up sharply to see his Master standing there, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. 

"Morning Patrick. You want toast?" 

What is he supposed to say to that? The cruel men who owned him before Pete didn't ask him whether he wanted food- he was lucky to get any at all. Cheap masters have left their mark on Patrick and he traces his fingers over his bony ribs before answering. 

"Yes please, Master." 

Pete lets out a tiny sigh and the blond boy shies away quickly, bracing himself for a blow. His Master is obviously displeased but just smiles sadly and strolls into the kitchen. 

"I'd like it if you could call me Pete." 

Stupid. Such an easy command and Patrick manages to screw it up.

"Sorry, Pete." 

"It's cool. Sleep well?" 

Patrick nods. His unspoken answer seems to cheer Pete a little and the bleached blond teen grins, busying himself with finding a toaster in the mounds of boxes. 

"Hey, you wanna go shower while I fix breakfast? I think it's gonna take a bit for me to find anything edible here." 

A shower. A real shower. Patrick can't remember the last time he had one. Pete obviously takes his silence as a yes because he fishes a towel out of a cardboard box and hands it to the boy. 

"Here. I'll leave some clothes for you outside the room, kay?" 

Nodding, Patrick shyly takes the towel from Pete and scurries off to the bathroom. It's everything he remembers it to be and more. Scalding hot water, washcloth and gel soap he hopes Pete won't notice he used. 

Dragging himself out of the shower is ridiculously difficult. He wraps the fluffy towel around his waist and listens for a moment at the door for the possibility of Pete. Modesty isn't exactly a high priority for a slave, not when getting enough to eat is rare, but he still isn't used to wearing little or no clothing in front of others. The coast seems to be clear and in the few seconds it takes Patrick to open the door and snatch the clothes, he sees Pete still in the kitchen frying something. It smells delicious and the blond boy's stomach grumbles as he pulls on the clothes. A cotton shirt with bright graphics covering it and comfortably large tracksuit pants. Much better. 

"You're not allergic to anything, are you? I found some eggs and bread!" 

Patrick's lips struggle to form a response as a hot plate of scrambled eggs and toast is shoved in front of him so he just silently shakes his head. 

"Cool. Dig in!" 

~~~

Ah, couch. Ridiculously comfortable, Brendon awakens and yawns luxuriously. He can't remember the last time he woke up without someone shaking him awake or yelling at him- it's a wonderful feeling. The boy's eyes search the room for a clock or something but there's nothing but moving boxes. Meh. Dallon will probably make him unpack them today. 

His thoughts turn to meaningless chatter now as Brendon rises from the couch and stretches happily. Brilliant night's sleep. All he needs now is some food and everything would be perfect. A shower would be nice too. Hunger isn't exactly gnawing at his belly (the meal last night was more than the slave is usually ate in a week) but Brendon thinks that Dallon would probably fix him some food. Maybe. The taller teen isn't awake yet and Brendon contemplates waking him. Why not, he thinks. Be nice to see whether his Master will be true to his word and not hurt him, or just punish Brendon for waking him. 

Dallon sleeps facedown on the bed, snoring softly. Gathering his courage, Brendon pokes his Master first hesitantly and then again, harder.

"Wake up. Master! Wake up..." 

No response. 

"C'mon, wake up." 

The tall boy stirs slightly and rolls over, opening his eyes and bolting upright when he sees Brendon. 

"Morning!" 

Brendon's chirpy greeting is a wonderful thing to wake to, sure, but really, seven o'clock in the morning? Ugh. 

"Morning Bren." 

The casual nickname slips out of Dallon's mouth but the slave doesn't seem seem to mind. In fact, the smile on his face becomes a grin.

"D'ya think there's any food?" 

"Eh, probably. Check the box with the purple ribbon." 

"Okay, sure. Do you want me to cook something?" 

"I'll make toast or something, just give me a minute to get up." 

Dallon's tired is smile is weirding Brendon out and the dark haired slave leaves to give Dallon some privacy to stretch and dress or whatever. He wants to interrogate his Master, because he's not acting like one. Why isn't he angry? Annoyed? Why doesn't he yell at the slave to not wake him up or to go make breakfast? Brendon's not complaining, that's for sure. 

Dallon emerges from his room dressed is ridiculously tight dark jeans and a band tee, yawning widely. 

"Lordy, kid. It's like seven am. Crazy morning people." 

Brendon braces himself for something- a hit? Anger? But Dallon is still smiling as he rummages through a box. 

"Do you want to shower now or tonight?" 

"Whatever you want."

Dallon must have found something because he lets out a triumphant cry and grins and Brendon. 

"Food!" 

"Ramen noodles? Really?" 

Dallon rolls his eyes and throws the packet at the boy playfully. It misses by at least a metre. 

"We can go shopping later, get you some clothes as well as actual real food. I don't think any of my stuff with fit you... wait, maybe Pete's will! I'm sure he'll let you borrow something just for today, so you don't have to go out wearing that." 

Brendon shrugs, a little overwhelmed by Dallon's concern. 

"Let's have breakfast out. Maybe take a shower, yeah? I'll go next door and you get some clothes." 

~~~

The knock on the door startles Patrick as he shoves the last piece of delicious toast in his mouth. Pete is in the shower, so what does he do? 

"Pete! C'mon, open up!"

It's a command and it's easy, no, it's natural for Patrick to obey. He limps over to the door and pulls it open, wincing at the weight on his ankle. It's healing, with rest and ice, but it still hurts. The tall boy from the market yesterday bounces into the apartment and seems surprised to be faced with the blond slave.

"Oh, hi. Where's Pete?" 

"Sorry, sir, he's in the shower. Would you like me to fetch him?" 

"No, it's okay." 

Patrick hovers awkwardly at the door, unsure what to do next. He's relieved- Pete is still his Master but at least he's familiar and promised not to hurt Patrick- when the shower switches off and Pete emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. 

"Sup Dallon." 

"Morning. Can I borrow some clothes? I want to take Brendon out to buy some but all my clothes are too big." 

"Sure. That's a great idea actually. Patrick, do you want to go pick out some clothes?" 

Patrick's mind searches for an answer. Clothes? His Master wants to buy him clothes? That's never happened before. Then again, a Master has never cooked breakfast for him before. 

"Okay?"

Pete smiles briefly at the blond boy and hurriedly searches through the boxes strewn around the room to find a shirt and jeans. He tosses them at Dallon.

"Meet you outside in five. Should we invite Frank along?" 

"If he wants." 

Frank and Gerard are already up when Dallon goes to knock on the door. He left Brendon with the clothes and instructions to meet them outside once he's changed. 

"Frank?" 

The dark haired boy and his slave are sitting against the wall of the living room, munching on pancakes. The kid must of made them, Dallon thinks, because Frank would accidentally set the apartment block on fire. He's great like that. 

"Yeah, what?"

"We're going out, stocking up on food and getting some clothes for Brendon and all. You wanna come?" 

The dark haired slave keeps his eyes on the ground but Dallon can feel his curiosity. Frank nods. 

"Sure. I'll be out in five." 

~~~

Pete can't stop the smile from lighting up his face as he watches Patrick and the other two. Their apartment block is a five minute walk away from the local shopping centre so they're strolling along the cracked footpath now, Dallon leading the way and Frank and him bringing up the rear. Frank seems preoccupied with his own thoughts so Pete walks silently, watching the boys in front of him. Brendon is bouncing along, chatting animatedly. He hears snatches of the conversation. 

"....couches are actually hella comfy, yknow.." 

The black haired kid is silent but a smile has found it's way onto his scarred face. And then there's Patrick, grinning as he limps along. Oh, crap. His ankle is probably hurting like hell, Pete thinks. He makes a mental note to buy a pair of crutches or something. The stores at the mall are just opening so they basically have the place to themselves. Dallon, being the only one out of him, Frank and Pete who could actually be bothered to check out the surroundings of their apartments, leads the group to the young adult clothing store. 

"Welcome to Ashlee's!" 

The brightly lit shop is painted brightly in highlighter shades. Poppy music plays loudly and Pete raises a skeptical eyebrow and his friend.

"Really?" 

Dallon grins and leans over to whisper in his ear, "it was this or Hot Topic." 

Gerard, Brendon and Patrick stand together outside the store, all with confused expressions on their faces.

"Um, go ahead?" 

Brendon turns to Dallon, eyebrows knitted together.

"What would you like me to wear?" 

Dallon shrugs helplessly. 

"Whatever you want. Just go pick out some stuff." 

"I've never done that before." 

Patrick taps Brendon on the shoulder and gently pulls him away, muttering softly. Brendon seems to agree with whatever the blond boy is saying because he nods and grins at his Master. 

"I think I get it. So I can just choose... anything?" 

The taller boy nods emphatically. 

"Whatever." 

Pete smiles his permission to Patrick and Frank nods to Gerard. It's adorable, watching the three teens in the store. Brendon is instantly attracted to anything glittery, Dallon notices, while Patrick and Gerard stick to darker colours. 

~~~

"I'm gonna go unpack. Seeya, guys." 

Pete bids the others farewell as he drags grocery bags into the apartment kitchen. Patrick follows him hesitantly, embracing Brendon and Gerard as he leaves. He's happy, ridiculously so. He gets to see his friends and pick out clothes and food and surely there's got to be a catch or something somewhere because everything now is so good. His ankle complains from all the walking and Pete won't even let him help unpack the boxes littering the rooms, instead gently pushing him towards the couch and insisting that he rest. 

~~~

Dallon doesn't ask Brendon for help, but the two of them work quite companionly together, chatting happily. Brendon as usual is being ridiculously hyper and Dallon thinks that maybe, maybe the kid is starting to believe that no one is going to hurt him. 

~~~

'Thank you' the notebook reads. Gerard is stocking cupboards with groceries but pauses for a moment to hand Frank the book. The shorter boy shrugs and smiles a little. "You're welcome."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ugh... writers block has struck and all I can think of is this crappy filler. Sorry!

Confusion.

It's messing with his head. 

It's been three days since the market and Gerard is confusing the absolute hell out of Frank. All his life, slaves have been distant objects that cook and clean and mean absolutely nothing to him. But now he's faced with this mute boy who writes him notes and won't quite meet his eyes and devours every comic Frank owns and shies away whenever his Master makes any sudden movements. 

The two of them are sitting together in the living room, Frank stretched out on the sofa and Gerard curled up on a bean bag. They're watching some un-scary horror movie but as he reaches for more popcorn, Frank's eyes stray to the black haired boy. Gerard is curled around his notebook and is sketching quietly, the hint of a smile playing on his lips and brown eyes dancing. It's an enticing sight and Frank can't tear his eyes away. 

The boy pauses in his drawing for a moment to push his dark hair behind his ears and it gives Frank a perfect view of the harsh white scars falling down his face. They're all over his body, he knows now, after accidentally walking in on the slave in the shower. Crawling down his neck, decorating his thin stomach and spiraling down his hips to slash pale legs. Frank is a little surprised at the surge of fury he feels. He's getting pretty possessive of this kid, he realizes. Getting angrier and angrier at everyone that ever hurt Gerard- including his parents. The memory of his mother hitting the silent boy when he refused to talk surfaces and a sigh escapes Frank's  
lips. Torn from his drawing, Gerard looks up sharply and cocks his head, a questioning expression on his face. Eager to please, Gerard is, Frank thinks. A dark thought about why this is crosses his mind and he cringes internally. Without a response from his Master, Gerard raises an eyebrow quizzically. 

"It's nothing, don't worry. Hey, you want some chips? I'm gonna open a packet." 

The plastic bowl sitting next to the boy is empty and Frank is happy for a distraction from his thoughts. Gerard nods shyly. 

"Back in a sec." 

As he strolls to the kitchen Frank glances back to see the boy engrossed in his picture once more. What is he drawing? Frank contemplates demanding to see for a minute before pushing the thought aside. A week ago, he wouldn't even hesitate to invade on a slave's privacy. But now after living with one... he'll have a look when he gives the boy the food, Frank decides. Just a quick peek. 

"Here." 

Careful not to spill them on the carpet, Frank pours some chips into the bowl and is rewarded with a grateful smile and quick duck of Gerard's head. As he stands his eyes find the drawing and Frank is surprised to see a half-finished picture of a young child. Gerard is quite the artist, he thinks. Except for the unfinished face, the drawing is wonderful. 

"Who are you drawing?" 

The question slips out of Frank's mouth before he can stop it and the expression on Gerard's face makes him want to snatch the words back. Gerard shrugs and begins to write. 

'I can't remember.'

Nodding, Frank pulls himself away from the boy and wanders back to the sofa, mind reeling. He doesn't remember? 

~~~

"Y'know, I could just cook if you want. All this takeaway isn't good for your health." 

Brendon is rummaging through the kitchen cupboards as he lectures Dallon, who is leaning against the fridge casually. The brown haired slave seems to be making an inventory of sorts, Dallon thinks.

"Seriously. Toast for breakfast, ramen noodles for lunch, burger and fries for dinner? Not exactly nutritious." 

"And what do you know about nutrition, Bren?"

Brendon pokes his tongue out at his Master's tease and continues to search through a cupboard. He can only just reach the tallest shelf and Dallon has to hold back a laugh as the teen balances on his toes (the shorter boy lacks co-ordination- it's amusing to say the least). 

"I'm like a world class chef. This guy who owned me like three Masters ago had this restaurant and when they got really busy I was ordered to help." 

"Wow. You really have done everything. Since you're so good, why didn't they sell you for more?" 

It's a stupid question, sure, but it's been bugging Dallon for the last three days. His roomie- okay, his slave- is literally a jack of all trades. And yet he sold for a lower price than a mute scarred boy. 

"I have behavior issues!" 

Brendon sings the words whimsically, grinning widely. He's got quite a wonderful voice and Dallon can't help but think about what their voices would sound like in a duet. The tall boy loves to sing- he is far more proficient with a bass- but can hold a tune very nicely.

"Behavior issues?" 

"Basically I'm an annoying little shit. Talk too much, am way too sarcastic, disobey orders, have been hit so many times I no longer care and won't be broken. Trust me, they've tried." 

There is a slightly bitter note to Brendon's voice and Dallon turns to him with horror in his eyes. 

"They've tried to... break you? In what way?" 

At some point in their conversation the slave has stopped his movements and has sat down heavily on the kitchen bench. Dallon joins him now, fearfully curious. The boy gestures uselessly around for a few moments before placing his hands carefully in his lap. His words now are precise, measured, emotionless. 

"You met Gerard yesterday, right? Next time you see him, watch him carefully. Watch the way his eyes drop to the ground when anyone speaks to him. Watch the way he flinches when people raise their voices. Watch the way he shies away when anyone gets too close. Broken." 

Brendon's composure begins to crack and his voice is heavy with sadness and he turns brown eyes to Dallon. 

"Whenever you come near me, I have to fight the urge to run away. It doesn't matter if you're handing me food or just walking past me. I've been a slave my whole life and my fear is such a big part of me." 

He emphasizes the words with a cutting motion and his voice slowly raises in anger. 

"But I'm used to it. I have Patrick and Gerard and they've taught me how lucky I am to be used to this. Patrick's a new slave, y'know? He's still not used to keeping his head down and doing what he's told. And you've seen Gerard. Scarred." 

Dallon's wide eyes are trained on Brendon and the slave's rage drains away, fear replacing it. Oh no, oh no, now he's done it. 

"I'm sorry I don't get to complain-" 

"Yes you do. You complain as much as you want. I'm not going to hit you or punish you in any way, I swear it. I know you don't believe me but you're safe here." 

Brendon is starting to believe it, though, listening to his Master speak so fiercly protective and caring. Dallon is quickly becoming the slave's ally and as much as he hates to admit it, friend. Brendon genuinely likes spending time with the laid back giant. 

"Okay." 

~~~

The whip is coming down on his back, again and again and again and hands are clawing at his thighs, again and again and again and he can't breathe properly, something is covering his mouth. Someone is calling his name but still someone is screaming, yelling in pain again and again and again and the last sane part of Patrick knows it must be him- 

"Patrick!" 

He wakes in a second, bolting upright and raising his hands to deflect the blows from his dream. Opening his eyes, however, the slave's nightmare world of blood and pain is fear has gone and in it's place is a worried Pete, standing over him and blinking sleep from his eyes.

"It's okay, Patrick, it's okay, you're okay, little one. Sh, everything is okay." 

Patrick blinks sleep from his eyes and slowly pieces together what had happened- his screams must have woken his Master. 

"Look at me, little one. Sh. You're okay." 

Pete is hovering next to his bed and doesn't seem to know where to put his hands. Struggling with the adrenaline from his dream, the blond slave stares up at Pete fearfully and braces himself for the hit. It doesn't come. 

"I'm s-sorry Master I-"

"Sh, it's okay. Nightmares?" 

"Yessir, I'm so sorry..."

The raw terror in Patrick's eyes scares Pete and he desperately wants to just hug the poor kid or something. Any sort of physical contact would just make this situation worse- Pete knows the boy thinks he's going to be punished for waking his Master. 

"It's okay, little one. Sh. You're safe, I promise." 

The blond boy nods slowly, relaxing a little now that the blows haven't begun. 

"Can I do anything? Get you anything?"

"What time is it?" 

"Like five in the morning. Look, I'm gonna make hot chocolate." 

Soundlessly nodding, Patrick gets up slowly and silently follows the bleached blond boy into the kitchen. He sits on the edge of one of the high stools as Pete begins to find ingredients. He's still shaking- can't stop. Pete looks back at him in concern and pauses his activity to fetch a heavy blanket. The slave flinches when his Master comes towards him but relaxes again as the teen smiles at him and hands him the blanket. As Pete returns to his cooking (if you can call it that- he's really just stirring chocolate power and hot milk together) he speaks up quietly, like he doesn't want to ask the question. 

"What were you dreaming about?" 

No answer. When he turns to Patrick the boy is hugging himself tightly. Shaking his head slowly. 

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me." 

The blond slave nods thankfully and takes the mug pushed towards him.

"Thank you." 

Whether he's being thanked for the drink or the silence, Pete doesn't know. 

"I'm sorry for waking you up." 

A yawn hits Pete at the worst moment possible and he does his best to hide it. 

"All good. Sleep is for the weak anyway." 

It's not much of a joke, not really, but Patrick smiles. He's beginning to stop trembling and Pete takes it as a good sign. 

"Now that I'm awake, I might as well stay up. You wanna watch a movie?"


	5. Chapter 5

Broken. 

He was starting to cook breakfast for Pete as a surprise while the boy showered. Five minutes into the task, Patrick's elbow brushes the beautiful glass photoframe on the bench, knocking it to the floor and breaking it into hundreds of beautiful, jagged pieces. It's not a loud break- the frame is light and fragile. Every sense in Patrick's body goes into overdrive along with a flash of absolute terror. 

No, no, no! What has he done? His Master (Patrick had been getting better at calling the blond boy Pete in his head before this accident) loves the object. There's a picture of him, Dallon and Frank in it but the grinning faces of the boys can hardly be seen among the shards of glass. He's going to be furious, Patrick thinks numbly. And so he slowly, carefully sinks to the floor and kneels there, forehead resting on the cold tiles. The tears start as he feels sharp pieces dig into his knees but he stays there, waiting for the anger. 

"Hey Patrick, wha-" 

Pete stops still in his tracks as he surveys the scene in front of him. Patrick doesn't even raise his head at the boy's arrival, instead whimpering apologies. 

"What happened, little one, why are you on the ground? Patrick-" 

the bleached blond boy stops himself as he notices just how badly Patrick is shaking. 

"I'm sorry sir so sorry sir it was an accident I didn't mean to I'm sorry..." 

"Sh." 

Hating how terrified the kid is but knowing he has to get him away from the glass, Pete picks his way over to the prostrate slave and crouches next to him. 

"Sh, little one. Sh." 

Patrick glances up, absolutely terrified. 

"Sh, I don't care." 

Slowly, gently, Pete pulls the boy up and lifts him, setting him down on the stone bench. Shards of glass have embedded themselves in Patrick's pale legs and as he continues to sob Pete cleans the small wounds. Once Pete has successfully decorated the boy's legs with bandaids, he takes the blond by the shoulders and shakes him gently, attempting to snap him out of his fear. 

"Little one, I don't care about the stupid photo frame. I care about you, okay, silly? What were you thinking?" 

Patrick shakes his head and continues to mumble apologies, not meeting Pete's eyes. 

"Sh, little one. You can stop apologizing. I'm not going to hurt you, kay?" 

It takes a while but finally Pete manages to calm the trembling boy down and convince him he's not going to be punished. He begins to sweep up the shards of glass now, keeping his eyes on the slave worriedly. 

"You know I'm not going to hurt you, right?" 

Finally Patrick meets Pete's eyes and shrugs sadly. 

"I guess." 

Well, that's about all he's going to get, Pete thinks. Nevermind. Hopefully Patrick will realise he's safe here soon.

"You don't have to answer this... but why freak out so bad? Now you've got scratched up legs to match your ankle." 

Patrick returns Pete's gently teasing smile but casts his eyes downwards as he begins to speak. 

"I'm a little clumsy. With my first Master, when I broke something I was whipped. With my second, he would stop giving me food for a week or beat me pretty bad. I learnt that if you apologise and grovel and beg," 

His voice has risen a little in self-disgust shadowed by fear, 

"the punishment won't be as bad." 

Never before has Pete wanted to punch something more than now. How dare they. How dare anyone hurt this poor kid. In fact, how dare something like this become commonplace, become acceptable, become standard? How dare the world become a place where teenagers are forced into complete and utter terrified obedience? It's not fair. 

"I was going to make omelets." 

The change in Patrick's voice from bitter terror to dejected regret is far funnier to Pete than it should be but damn, it's hilarious. Patrick's frown is like that of a boy who's favourite toy has been taken away and it makes Pete laugh far too much. 

"We can... just have... toast..." 

Talking is difficult for Pete now as he struggles to breathe adminst his borderline hysterical laughter. 

"Are you alright?" 

Slightly weirded out, the slave shrugs and begins to clear away the burnt remains of an omelet, leaving Pete to his laughter. 

~~~

They're eating breakfast together when someone begins to drum their fists against the door of the apartment. Brendon turns to Dallon in confusion but the tall boy has no more idea about what is going on than his slave does. He gets up quickly and strolls to the door, letting in a shorter teen with chin length brown hair and the beginnings of a beard. 

"Spencer!" 

"Hey Dallon. Can you help me get my kit out of the- who's this?" 

Brendon raises his chin defiantly and opens his mouth to speak before Dallon interrupts hastily. 

"Spencer, this is Brendon. Brendon, Spencer." 

The slave regards the freeman warily, eyes flicking between the stranger and his Master. 

"Hi. So I guess your parents made you go through with the slave thing?" 

"Uh, yeah."

Spencer's eyes take in the brown haired slave curiously. He's been one of Dallon's close friends for a long enough time that Dallon has met his parents- laid back, friendly people who are very much against the slave trade. Spencer shares their views and although he has met a multitude of former and current slaves, he has never spoken to one his own age. It's strange. Not really knowing what to do, Spencer sticks out his hand for the slave to shake. Brendon stares at the outstretched hand. What is he supposed to do? Freemen don't shake hands with slaves. Definitely not. He looks to Dallon for help but the taller boy just shrugs. 

"Uh... how long have you lived here?" 

Spencer asks the question just to break the silence. It's making him uncomfortable, the awkwardness and not knowing how to treat the boy. 

"A couple of days. Who are you? Would you like me to call you sir or mister?" 

There is not a single trace of humor or sarcasm in Brendon's voice. He's completely serious. There is, however, uncertainness. 

"Please no I- I don"t think slavery is right. My parents are advocates against anything like, well, this. Please call me Spencer." 

"Wait, what?" 

Skeptism seems to be Brendon's go-to emotion when he's faced with hope, Dallon notices. The thought makes him sigh inwardly.

"I don't think people should be slaves. Unlike Dallon's asshole parents." 

Spencer grins at his friend and Dallon grins back. It's been a long-running joke between them- asshole parents. They are, though, and that's the sad thing. Dallon wonders briefly whether he could legally change his last name before remembering the guest. 

"Oh, right, drum kit! C'mon Spence, let's get it inside." 

Spencer Smith is nineteen years old. He graduated from high school a year ago and constantly teases Dallon about his homeschooling. All three of the boys were actually homeschooled until very recently- Dallon had become too intelligent for his teacher, Pete was sick of the patronizing lessons and Frank argued with his tutor far too much. Their parents were more than happy to stop the lessons. Dallon and Spencer met during the set of some local band and have been good friends ever since, even attempting to form a band together. Of course, they'd need a singer (who's not their bassist) for that. 

After a couple of trips back and forth to Spencer's beat up van, Dallon, Spencer and Brendon manage to safely move and set up Spencer's pride and joy- his drumkit. It's been living in the back of his van for the last few months so now that he has his own place, Dallon volunteered to house the kit for the time being. 

"My bass is in my room. Let me go get it, I'll be back in a second." 

For a few seconds as Dallon exits the room, he's afraid Spencer and Brendon are going to be left in an awkward silence- or worst, fight. His fears are  
pointless, it turns out, as a minute later he's back with a bass and the two boys are animatedly chatting away. 

"Can I try and sing? You need a vocalist..." 

Brendon turns his puppy dog brown eyes to Dallon pleadingly and Spencer laughs in the background. The freeman obviously mentioned him and Dallon's plight.

"Oh, sure! Which Master was it that taught you to sing?" 

The brown haired slave pokes his tongue out at Dallon and grins widely. 

"Fifth. He lip-synced and I sang for about three performances before I got sick of it and decided it would be more interesting to mess it up and see him humiliated. Fun times!" 

~~~

"And if anyone tries to get in, you text Pete or Dallon, yeah? Their numbers are here." 

Frank hands the iPhone to Gerard and attempts a reassuring grin. The kid just nods and smiles slightly, taking the phone and retreating to his beanbag to continue drawing. 

"I'll be back in an hour or so. There's food in the cupboards." 

As Frank turns to leave, he catches Gerard's hesitant wave and feels a grin, a real one this time, creep onto his face. The little slave will be fine by himself. He'll probably love the peace and quiet, actually, Frank thinks. Hopefully when Frank gets back he'll be able to give the kid good news. 

It's harder this time to walk through the slave markets. The stoic silence and muffled sobs of various slaves unnerves Frank as he searches for the person who sold him Gerard in the first place. It takes a while, but soon the dark haired boy manages to locate the man in charge and quiz him on the past of the scarred boy. 

"Gerard, eh? The quiet one with all the scars? I suppose we could get ya some records. Business is pretty slow today anyways." 

He leads Frank to a small building out of sight of the rest of the market and searches through a steel filing cabinet for a few minutes before exclaiming  
happily and pulling out a thick file. 

"'Ere ya go! Gerard Way." 

"Thanks." 

Frank can barely stand to spend another minute with the disgusting man. Evil, evil slave trader. At least he's helpful. Frank makes sure he's far away from the horrible markets before he locates a bench and sits down to read Gerard's file. A tiny bit of his conscious is whispering that he's being a snoop and kind of invading the kid's privacy but curiosity manages to drown it out. 

Name: Gerard Arthur Way. 

Date of Birth: April 9th 1997 

Early Life: Born into slavery. Mother was a domestic servant at- 

There's a question mark and an apostrophe as an answer so Frank finds the words at the bottom of the page- Unknown Location. 

Physical Features: black hair, 5 foot 9, scars from various owners on torso, face and limbs. Light brown eyes. 

Temperament: obedient but mute. 

Family: Mother, Donna, deceased. Unknown father. Brother, Michael Way, currently owned by R. Toro. 

A brother! An old photograph is attached to the page and Frank has no doubt it's the same person that Gerard was drawing. The teen's mind is now whirring with ideas and theories but he forces himself to read on. 

Owner History: seven to date. 

Current owner: F. Iero. 

Several other photographs are inside the file and Frank quickly scans them, not really wanting to see the close-up shots of Gerard's scars. His eyes are drawn to them, however, and he winces quietly.

Ouch. 

So. R. Toro. 

Frank begins the walk home, mind spinning all the time. A brother he doesn't remember?

~~~

It's quite nice to be alone, really. Frank has been gone for almost an hour now and Gerard has spent the time drawing and quietly searching through Frank's bedroom for more comics. He loves the graphic colours and insane plotlines, having never been exposed to anything like them before. Sure, various Masters have owned magazines and comics but they've never let him read the freely before. And now Gerard is owned by Frank, the strange teen who lets him stay in the apartment alone and unsupervised and hasn't touched him once. 

It's almost a surreal experience, not being ordered about or hit or raped and just being able to sit. He loves it but still questions it so much- something bad has to happen sooner or later. Or maybe not, the dark haired slave thinks. Thinks, and hopes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I took so long to update this! I'm back writing now and seriously love you guys for sticking with this story.

Quiet. 

Silence has filled the apartment, as it has many times in the past week. It's a comfortable silence, however. Gerard doesn't speak, of course, and Frank just prefers the quiet. He's wearing a bulky pair of headphones now, head bobbing and eyes closed as he loses himself in the music.

It's been half an hour since he returned from the market, thoughts full of Michael Way and R. Toro. Of how to tell Gerard that he's been snooping in the his past. Frank looks over to the scarred boy now, smiling a little at the slave sprawled on the carpet with a comic. It was only too easy to drop by Bob's house and borrow a handful of them- Gerard's near-ecstatic response to more things to read makes Frank smile. Once the kid has finished the comic he'll drop the news, Frank thinks. 

~~~

"Seeya, Spence! Drop by again soon. I've forgotten how much I've missed playing with you." 

Spencer shoots his friend a grin at the affectionate words as they stroll to his van. 

"Of course I'll come again. Brendon's hella talented- I'd love to get him on a guitar. You've done such a good job with him, hey. Can hardly tell... y'know..." 

The dark haired youth lets the words fall away as he smiles hesitantly. 

"He's a good kid. I feel so bad for all that's happened to him."

Silence falls as the pair reaches their destination. It's been a great day, to be honest, for both of them. The pleasure of each other's company, Brendon's constant chatter, good music and a conference skype call with Kenny and the rest. They're both sorry to see it end.

"Bye, Dallon. Tell your asshole parents to go fuck themselves, alright? And keep taking good care of Bren. He really likes it with you, I can tell." 

The van and Spencer drive away, leaving Dallon to contemplate the words of his friend. Brendon likes it here? He'll ask the slave, he will, when he gets back. 

~~~

Patrick is singing and it's beautiful. Pete's not sure if the blond teen knows he's listening, but he is, albeit silently as not to disturb him. It's probably creepy as hell but he's leaning up against the bathroom wall, catching snatches of Patrick's sweet voice. He's got amazing range. Pete doesn't recognise the song- maybe it's something he made up himself? The words of the tune are near-indecipherable but after listening for a while, the bleached blond teen manages to make some sense of the constantly repeating lyrics sung low and slurred.

"Mama, if we don't take the medication, we won't sleep for days, we won't sleep for days. Mama, if we pray to the lord, does he sing on a stage? Does he sing on a stage? We waste it all in the back of a long dark car, and I'm a sunshine machine. I want to get stuck, I want to get stuck. And be golden in your memory." 

The nonsensical words stop abruptly as the shower switches off and Pete hurriedly moves away, strolling to the kitchen and busying himself with his phone. Ashlee has texted. He deletes the message without even looking at it. They haven't spoken since the breakup, where they yelled and screamed. She called him a pretentious brat, and well, he called her worse. Pete has a bit of a temper on him when he's annoyed or getting yelled at. Unsurprising, really. He's jolted out of his hateful thoughts (he didn't want the breakup, but that didn't stop it) by Patrick's quiet footsteps and hesitant tap on the shoulder. 

"Oh, hey Patrick. You going okay?"

The blond teen nods shyly and attempts a quick smile. 

"Yes, thank you. Um, do we have anything planned for tonight?" 

"Not really, no. Why?" 

He's obviously terrified to ask this, to ask for something from his Master, and Pete hates the fear in Patrick's eyes. 

"I was wondering if I could go and see Brendon and Gerard..." 

"Oh, sure, yeah! Hey, how about we invite them over? Get some nibbles, y'know, play some music?" 

Patrick's face splits into a grin and he nods happily. 

"That would be really good." 

"You wanna go door knocking while I run down to the shops? Don't let Dallon trash the apartment!" 

~~~

By the time he gets back, thoughts heavy with memories of his ex (she's on his mind, why the hell won't she just quit texting him?) Pete's living room is full of people. Well, not exactly full, but close enough. Patrick and Gerard are sprawled on the floor, the former murmuring compliments softly to the latter as Gerard shows him drawings and smiles at the praise. Dallon is struggling to get Pete's CD player to work as Brendon and Frank hover above him, throwing unhelpful suggestions, much to their amusement and Dallon's exasperation. 

"Food? Food! Wentz brought food! Finally!" 

Dallon abandons his task and snatches the grocery bags from Pete's hands. 

"I couldn't get your stupid system working, sorry bro. You probably should replace it. It hasn't been the same since she-" 

"Shut up." 

"Oh, c'mon, I know it's a sore spot, but you can say her name out loud. Crazy girl, crazy girl. You're lucky the rest of your exes aren't as bonkers as Ash is." 

Frank joins in on the teasing, happy to help annoy his friend. 

"Have you spoken to Megan recently, Pete? She's got a girlfriend now. Were you that bad-" 

"We're both bi, y'know, doofus. God. Shut up and eat!"

~~~

It's great to catch up with the others and all, but Frank is slightly annoyed at the timing. He psyches himself up to tell Gerard (that kid's changing him, a month ago he wouldn't even hesitate to tell a slave he'd been casually snooping) and then shy blond kid knocks on his door asking him and the mute boy to come over. 

Dallon feels exactly the same. Spencer sparked his curiosity over the emotions of the hyperactive teen. How is he going? Is it better for him with Dallon? The tall youth hopes so. 

~~~

"You've had so much time to draw! So he's treating you okay?" 

Gerard nods and smiles at Patrick, so happy to see him. It's only been a couple of days since they last saw each other, but after spending pretty much every waking hour with him and Brendon, being separated is kind of strange. Good, though. Getting out of the dark rooms was definitely a good thing (although everything was certain  
there. None of this strangeness, with Masters that demand nothing). 

'It's weird. I cook meals and clean but he doesn't ask me to. It's more...' 

Gerard pauses in his writing for a moment. 

'Habit.' 

Patrick nods, understanding. Although he hasn't been enslaved for long, he knows the urge to make everything perfect to avoid upset. Although he doesn't think Pete- or Frank, judging by no new bruises or cuts on Gerard's body- would be too upset. Patrick has seen that already, the lack of, well, upset-ness, when he breaks things or wakes Pete with his screams. The nightmares come, again and again and again, and his concerned Master is always there. Pete's not much of a Master, really. More a friend almost, Patrick thinks. 

'What's bleach blond like?' 

Gerard taps his friend on the shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts and pushing the notebook towards him. It's almost full, Patrick realizes. Full of drawings and words. 

"Not like the others. He doesn't get angry at me and he hasn't... y'know... done anything. He's kind of scared to touch me, actually. I think he wants to give me space. It's good." 

Gerard's grin lights up his face and leans his head on Patrick's shoulder, apparently out of words to write. The black haired boy closes his eyes and Patrick silently surveys his face, still wincing in sympathy at the scars as he does every time he looks at the boy. Gerard's told them they don't hurt much, anymore, but Patrick's pretty sure he's lying. The scars from countless beatings and whippings that decorate the blond teen's back still ache. His ankle's recovering, though. It's good. 

~~~

"So, bleach blond, how's Trick going?" 

Dallon and Frank are engrossed in a conversation about god knows what and Pete jumps a little in surprise when Dallon's slave talks to him. Brendon, Pete's brain supplies. 

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" 

The words aren't meant to come out as rude, but they do. Rude and challenging and Brendon's eyes narrow in annoyance. 

"I'm pretty sure him and Gerard are asleep. Don't want to disturb them." 

It's true. The two boys are slumped near the sofa, leaning against each other. They've been like that for at least an hour- Brendon joked around with the pair for a while before leaving them to pore over Gerard's art. The bouncy teen inserted himself into Dallon, Frank and Pete's conversation without blinking an eye and fit in perfectly. Him and Dallon seem close already, Pete thinks distractedly. It's hard to catch, but occasionally Brendon with meet the taller boy's eyes and Dallon will smile, encouraging him to keep talking. 

"His ankle's pretty much healed, which is a big relief. He has a lot of nightmares, wakes up yelling a lot." 

Brendon nods sagely, shooting a pitying glance over to the dozing blond teen. 

"Yeah, he got them when we were at the markets. Poor thing." 

"How long were you three there together?" 

Brendon shrugs, glances over at Dallon and resigns himself to talking with this teen. He seems okay. 

"Gerard got there first. We have no idea how long he was there- it's kind of hard to count the days when you're always inside. We got let out, what, once or twice a day to stretch our legs and for a bathroom break, y'know? It was pretty uneven. Anyway, I got there next, then Patrick. It was at least a month then before opening day." 

Pete nods silently, eyes on Patrick and Gerard huddled together. 

"Trick has only been a slave for a year or two. He was free until he was fifteen or so, then his father and brother were killed in some freak accident at their business. Turns out they had massive amounts of debt that the remaining family just couldn't pay back, what with the mother not being able to work because of something or other and Patrick so young. Mother was sent to the workhouses and died a month later while Patrick was sold into slavery." 

Wincing, Pete tears his gaze away from the sleeping teens and awkwardly meets Brendon's eyes. 

"Oh." 

"Yeah." 

It's quiet for a few moments now, until Brendon changes the subject with a smile. He can sense the other teen's uncomfortableness and guilt (although none of the shit that happened to Patrick is his fault, Brendon thinks) and is shot a grateful smile in return. Yeah, Pete is okay.


	7. Chapter 7

Safe. 

He's warm and he's safe and he could just slip back into the oblivion of sleep, for a just a little longer, but a strange feeling of someone's arms around him isn't what he's used to and it jolts him out of his peace- 

"Sh, don't worry. You fell asleep, little one. Sh. It's alright." 

The logical part of Patrick's brain is screaming for him to open his eyes and struggle because someone is carrying him, which usually only leads to something bad happening, but the soft way Pete is murmuring reassurances calms the blond boy and he relaxes. He's safe. He hardly registers being set down on the mattress. 

"Good night." 

The last thing Patrick remembers is being covered by a blanket or something else that's warm and soft and then he's lost in sleep again. 

~~~

He didn't have the heart to wake the sleeping boy when the others left. It had gotten late, to the point where Dallon's eyelids had gotten heavy and Frank couldn't stop yawning. Pete sent them home with a smile and promises to do this again soon as a somewhat quieter Brendon woke Gerard and half guided, half dragged the bleary boy away. He sits, now, trying to gather the energy to do something other than take in the curled form of Patrick in front of him. It's probably a little creepy, but the blond teen is absolutely adorable when he's asleep. 

It's not even that late, honestly. Eleven thirty, the clock on the kitchen bench reads. Pete can't remember the amount of all-nighters he's pulled in the past with Dallon and Frank, whether they're spent watching movies or playing video games or just talking about everything and anything. 

About their parents (Frank hates this subject and they've long ago learnt not to push it with him- Dallon and Pete know what's going on, know what happens at the Iero household, but Frank snaps at anyone who asks him about it), their futures (they all want to do something in music, whether it be bands or something different- their parents think it's a waste of time but Pete doesn't think he's seen Dallon happier than when he's with a bass), girls and boys (Pete's the only one that really likes girls AND boys, to be honest- Dallon is quite openly gay while Frank remains closeted) or anything else that's on the trio's minds. 

As the Wentz, Iero and Weekes families are close in business, status and wealth (ridiculously wealthy, huh) their parents socialize a lot and are overjoyed that their sons are such good friends. It's not like they've had many opportunities to make more friends, anyway, Pete thinks a little bitterly. Sure, there's Andy and Joe who lived down the road from the Wentz house, but Dearest Mother didn't hide her disgust for the 'lower class' teens. It was easy enough to sneak out with the quiet vegan boy and the funny kid with an impressive 'fro. 

A muffled sound from the mattress jolts Pete out of his scattered thoughts and he turns sharply to see Patrick tossing and turning, quiet mutters of 'no' and 'I'm sorry' filling the quiet apartment. The nightmares have started and Pete rushes to the blond boy's bedside, murmuring reassurances. Patrick seems to be trapped in the  
hazy world between unconciousness and the real world and can't seem to wake, but Pete's words calm him. The bleach blond runs his fingers through the slave's hair and although he doesn't quite wake, no, he somehow registers the gentle touch and relaxes. 

"Sh, you're okay. Just sleep." 

~~~

Gerard wakes to a tap on the shoulder and starts, confused and a little scared. He calms, however, once he sees Frank's apologetic face. 

"Sorry to wake you, but we're going somewhere today. A friend of mine is taking us and she'll be here in, like, twenty minutes and we should eat first." 

Fumbling for his notebook and pen in his haste to ask a question before Frank leaves, Gerard almost knocks over the glass of water by his bedside (Frank had bought a gloriously comfortable camping bed from somewhere for him) and rushes to catch it as his Master laughs. 

'Where are we going?' 

Frank shoots him a smile and pushes a plate of buttered toast towards him, putting a finger to his lips. 

"It's a surprise." 

Half an hour later (she's always late, for goodness sake) Lindsey arrives in a flurry of smiles and windblown hair. 

"Hey, Frankie! Who's the kid? Hey, kid! I'm Lindsey, nice to meet you, I have no idea where we're going but I'm sure it'll be fun! Iero, I've got a seven and a half hour long playlist but I'm hoping we won't need it all. Why the heckitty are we driving so far anyway? Where are we even going?" 

Frank almost laughs as he watches Gerard take an overwhelmed step backwards. Lindsey has that effect sometimes. She takes a breath and seems about ready to continue yabbering before Frank butts in. 

"This is Gerard. I'll tell you where we're going later, but please calm the fuck down. Don't freak him out, Lins." 

Immediately silent, Lindsey nods quickly and shoots Gerard an apologetic smile before dancing off to her car. She's Frank's cousin, twenty two years old and with far more energy than anyone should have at eight in the morning. Practically disowned by the Iero family for her rebellious nature and lifestyle choice, she plays bass in some kickass band and gave Frank his first guitar. He loves Lindsey. 

~~~

Gerard sits in the corner of the backseat, head buried in his notebook as Frank and Lindsey yell to each other over the loud music blaring from the half-broken speakers of her truck. He's pretty sure Gerard can't hear them or at least isn't listening, so he tells his cousin all about the scarred boy and she promises to be a little more laid back around him. 

The truck sputters along as they drive- it's a rusty old thing, prone to breaking down. Frank hopes to heavens it'll stay alive for this journey. It's going to be a long drive to the residency of R. Toro. It's probably an invasion of privacy and all that jazz, but he stalked this guy for ages online to find an address. Seems like an okay person, twenty seven years old with a wife and young kid. Hopefully he won't be too annoyed with random strangers showing up on his doorstep. 

'Where are we going?' 

Gerard passes the notebook to Frank with an eyebrow raised and Frank sighs inwardly. He has to tell the teen sometime, so he passes the boy his slave file and points to the name: Michael Way. 

~~~

"Bored. Can I do something? Is there anything I can do? C'mon Dallon, I'm bored..." 

Brendon trails off as he pauses in his complaining and takes in the tall teen in front of him- Dallon is dressed neater than usual and has actually brushed his hair. 

"Are you going out?" 

"I'm going to apply for a job. D'you want to come?" The concept of paid work is slightly foreign to Brendon. Besides, isn't the Weekes family ridiculously wealthy? Surely they can provide for their son. 

"Where are you going?"

"There's a music store down the street. A mate of mine runs it, Ryan, and he's offering me a job!" 

Dallon is bouncing on the balls of his feet, full of nervous energy. It makes Brendon smile to see him excited. He's noticed that the taller teen often gets- how to put it- not quite depressed, as such, but very much unhappy when he's not busy with something. He'll spend hours in his room on his bass, singing just loud enough for Brendon to hear him. He's got a nice voice (not as good as his own, Brendon thinks with more than a touch of pride) but a nice one all the same. 

Dallon writes songs, and composes songs, and it's a wonderful thing to fall asleep to, the quiet bass and soft vocals. Much better than the clinking of chains. 

"Yeah, I'm down." 

~~~

It's strange walking down the street with Dallon. A few stares are thrown Brendon's way, whether they're because of the collar (slaves are prohibited from exiting their dwelling without identification, much to both Brendon and Dallon's displeasure) or just at him. Call him arrogant, but Brendon knows he's good looking. A desirable slave, at least. No scars- at least not where they could be seen. 

The man at the counter of the record store, Jon as his nametag reads, is very friendly. He sends Dallon to speak to 'Mr Ross' and then completely ignores the leather collar restricting Brendon's breathing, instead greeting the brown haired teen happily and striking up a conversation. 

It's weird, being treated like an actual person, muses Brendon as Jon serves a pretty red-haired customer. First Dallon, then Frank and Pete, then Spencer and now Jon. Brendon's never had people just look past the stupid slavery thing. Then again, he hasn't exactly been out and about around open minded people. 

"Hey, Bren, Ryan's kind of desperate. Would you be okay, with, like, um, helping out every now and then? I mean you'd get paid and it'd just be stacking stuff and whatever with me like I understand if you don't want to-" 

Dallon rambles when he's nervous or unsure, Brendon is seeing. It's pretty endearing. An opportunity to earn a wage? The taller teen in front of him looks like he's fully expecting for Brendon to refuse the offer. Ha, no, Brendon thinks as he grins to himself and nods in agreeance. This should be fun. 

"Great! We start tomorrow."


	8. Chapter 8

"Mornin' Donna. How ya goin'?" 

"I'm fine, yourself?"

"Not bad, ah, can't complain. How're the boys?" 

"Very well. I don't believe Master Matthew realizes they exist." 

"Prob'ly a good thing, ya'know. He'll wanna sell 'em off when they get old enough."

It's the average morning conversation between the strikingly beautiful but tired woman and the older man. They recite their lines like they're working from a script, along with played out smiles and shrugs of shoulders. Both of them enjoy their interaction, despite it's shallow nature. Neither are fine. But it's true that neither can complain. After a few more words exchanged, the two part and go along with their day. She leaves to the kitchens and he breaks his back with the manual labour of keeping the immaculate Pelisser Estate, well, immaculate. 

The sun is well down by the time Donna Way makes her way back to the servant quarters where two very quiet boys are waiting for her. The older, with his jet black hair falling into his eyes, is drawing something in the dust of the floor with his finger. The younger is very much engrossed in the picture and starts when he notices their mother standing behind them. She waves as the pair enthusiastically abandon their art to throw themselves at her. 

"Hello Mikey and hello Gee! Did you two have good day today?" 

Donna speaks in a whisper and together they sit on the rough floor. The older boy nods happily and points to the scrawls decorating the floor and beams with pride.

"Well done, Gee! They're very pretty. Hey, you know what?" 

She continues without waiting for a response.

"Ariel and Vicky will like them. You'll have to show them when they get back." 

Vicky and Arielle, the women Donna and the boys share their quarters with, dote on the small children. They've both worked at the Pelisser Estate along with Donna for as long as the brothers have lived and are practically a little family. 

"Did you draw too, Mikes?" 

The diminutive blond boy shakes his head decisively. He prefers to just watch Gerard and the exciting worlds he creates. They haven't been outside much, don't go outside much (a couple of times a month at the most) but the older boy has a wonderful memory and a fantastic imagination. 

"I brought you two something, sh. Do you like it?" 

Donna is in the habit of subtly taking scraps of leftover food or small items that won't be missed for the boys. They add the items to their covetted collection of 'treasures' hiding behind a loose stone in the floor. Today's treasure, a piece of delicate china from a broken plate, is received with excited grins and a quick hug from each of the boys and they scurry off to place the shard in the hole. 

"Vicky will be here soon with some food for us. Are you two hungry?"

More nods. Gerard shoots his mother a quick glance, eyes dancing, then leaps dramatically and tackles his younger brother, pinning the blond to the floor and pretending to gnaw on his face. Mikey flails about in mock terror before shoving the other boy off and attacking back. The two play-fight for a few moments as Donna watches on, amused, before footsteps outside the room register. Mikey and Gerard immediately pause, eyes wary, and scurry to hide under one of the makeshift beds. 

It's not like the shoddy hiding place disguises them well, but it's been enough to fool the half-blind old woman who makes her rounds every night to check on the slaves of the Pelisser Estate. However, it's only a short pink haired woman and a taller brunette. 

"Ariel, Vickey, made it through another day. Gee, Mikes, it's okay, come out." 

The brothers quickly crawl out from their hiding place and are each given a satisfied glance by Donna. She's trained them well, to hide at any sound. It can't last forever, nags the voice in the back of her mind. They'll be found out eventually. But she pushes it away.

Greeting Donna with a nod of her head, Vicky smiles at the boys. 

"Hey, Donna. Boys, Ariel's had a tough day and she needs a hug, kay? But be gentle sweeties." 

Mikey and Gerard nod somberly and silently attach themselves to the pink haired woman, bringing a tired smile to her face. 

"I screwed up again. A dozen lashes." 

Ariel presses a kiss to each of the boy's foreheads and gently push them away before collapsing on a rough bed. 

"Food's here, boys. You have a decent day Don?" 

"Not bad. You?" 

"So-so." 

~~~

It's late by time they go to bed. As usual, they push the three beds together and collapse in a pile. It's brutally cold with thin blankets, but they have each other. They'll always have each other, the tiny blond boy thinks as he rests his head against Gee. Mum with her tired eyes and Vicky with her scarred cheeks and Ariel with her bruised thighs and Gee. Family.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone! Well, for me it's Boxing Day because time zones are weird but I reckon like 80% of the internet is American. Anyway, I didn't write this all on purpose- I meant to just write a little bit of the Pete/Patrick storyline and then kinda got interested and wanted to finish it. Also, I still have no idea how I'm going to do Mikey so yeah? Apologies for making Ashlee a bitch- I needed an evil ex?   
> Brendon's Drunk History of Fall Out Boy is the best thing ever- watch it! I was pretty much crying with laughter.

Anger. 

He didn't mean to answer the phone. It was habit, just picking it up and throwing out some stupid one liner as a greeting before he recognized the voice on the other line. 

Ashlee. 

Obviously furious that he hadn't been answering her texts (okay, Pete couldn't exactly blame her on that one, she was actually trying to apologise and he did say some pretty mean shit) she had started a yelling match that drew him in and set off his temper. The bleach blond youth is fuming now, drumming his fists against his thighs and debating punching a hole in the wall next to him. But then Dallon would hear it and come over and Pete really doesn't want to have to deal with his freaking happiness right now. 

God, he needs a drink. Or a pill- no, he tells himself sternly, common sense breaking through the haze of frustration. No more pills. He knows where they are, though, top shelf of the bathroom in those clinical little bottles with their rainbow colours and stupid promises, it would be so easy just to chuck back a couple... 

No. 

His phone buzzes and Pete scans the message quickly, rolling his eyes in annoyance. Ashlee left some clothes at his old house, she says, and thinks he might have brought it to the apartment by accident. She says she'll be over in five minutes. Fury surges through the teen and he gets up angrily, almost pushing the chair over as he storms into his room to drag out the stupid-ass dress she looked so fucking beautiful in. He doesn't notice Patrick there, singing under his breath and picking out a  
simple melody on Pete's bass until he trips over the lead and goes crashing down.

"Holy smokes, are you okay? I'm sorry, so sorry, I shouldn't have been-" 

The freeman cuts his slave off with a glare that's embarrassment mixed with annoyance mixed with seething fury and gets up, pushing past him roughly. 

"I didn't say you could touch my fucking bass, okay?! Just get out of my fucking way." 

Patrick begins to stutter apologies and out of the corner of his eye Pete sees him place the instrument down on the bed with something close to reverence. Bowing slightly with an alarming amount of fear in his eyes, he leaves the room at what is close to a run. Oh, fuck, he scared the kid. Pete's fingers find the smooth silk and he pushes Patrick out of his mind as he drags the delicate dress out of the closet. 

Memories surge over him as he stares down at it- she'd worn the dress to some stupid dinner at his parent's place and kept him entertained the whole night by a whispered commentary and constant smiling. They'd danced, as old fashioned as it seemed, because the Wentz family like dinner parties to be old fashioned and oh-so-formal. The sound of the apartment door opening and her furious voice drag him out of his thoughts. 

"Who are you? What are you doing in Pete's house?!" 

Oh, shit. Patrick's out there. 

Pete rushes to leave the bedroom, dress in hand. The scene in the kitchen is not exactly ideal- she's backed the cowering slave up against the wall and is bombarding him with questions.

"Ever heard of ringing the fucking doorbell? Here's your stupid dress." 

Ashlee turns and smiles at him, sickly sweet, but doesn't move. 

"Who's this?" 

"This is Patrick. Now take the fucking dress and get out." 

Eyebrows raised, the leering teen raises her eyebrows and takes a step away from Patrick, much to his obvious relief. 

"He's very... quiet. New friend? New boyfriend? Some kid off the street whoring himself out?" 

With absolutely no idea what's going on (except that he's pretty sure this girl just called him a prostitute) the blond boy inches his way along the wall away from the teen. 

"If that's what it is, give me his number. He's cute." 

Pete thinks she's kidding, but her comments are grating on his nerves and his temper is flaring.

"You've moved on pretty quickly. Didn't-" 

"Shut the fuck up!" 

Pete snaps. 

"Leave us alone and get the fuck out!" 

Ashlee grins, delighted, and moves towards the blond boy. 

"Who are you, Patrick? Tell me!" 

His eyes dart towards Pete nervously and without a response from the furious youth, Patrick swallows quietly and obeys the order. 

"I'm a slave, ma'am. Pete's parents bought me for him. I'm very sorry, but Pete would like y-you to leave. P-please... please do." 

The surprise of Patrick standing up for him, despite the fact that Pete has been a complete ass to him for the last few minutes, hits Pete and he's shocked into silence as Ashlee snickers. They stand there for a few moments, room silent except for the girl's laughter. Then Ashlee steps forward and backhands Patrick hard across the face. He staggers backwards, eyes wide and terrified. 

"You don't get to tell me to do shit, slave! You are nothing. Nothing! Who the fuck do you even think you are?!" 

The blond boy begins to stutter apologies and Pete steps forward, cold with fury. Thrusting the dress towards his ex, he gently pushes a reeling Patrick behind him and fixes the girl in front of them with a glare. 

"Get out of my house." 

The one good thing about Ashlee, Pete can say, is that she always knows when she's been beaten. She always knows when it's time to quit. Taking the dress, the blond girl spits at his feet and storms out, slamming the apartment door behind her. Releasing a sigh of relief, Pete turns to the teen behind him, voice soft. 

"Are you okay?" 

With alarm he takes in the red mark on Patrick's cheek and the small gashes on his skin. The gaudy rings decorating Ashlee's knuckles are probably the cause. 

"Yessir. Sorry, I should've kept my mouth shut..." 

"No, no, no, don't be sorry. It's not your fault my ex is a psycho slave basher. You sure you're okay?" 

"Not really." 

Pete nods silently and leaves the room for a moment, returning with a damp cloth and a box of bandaids. When he returns he drops the box on the floor and begins to gently dab the cuts, wincing when Patrick recoils away. 

"Hey, I'm not going to hurt you. You know that." 

"You... you yelled at me. I thought you were going to punish me." 

Patrick's voice is shaky with doubt and fear and Pete wants to walk away, face the wall of his apartment and repeatedly bash his skull against it. Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot. Idiot! It's not Patrick's fault Pete was mad with rage and not looking where he was going.

"I'm really sorry about that. I should have been paying attention and definitely shouldn't have gotten angry. It was just Ashlee, argh," 

Pete pauses for a moment to push down the rage blossoming in his gut. How dare she come into his home and hit the poor kid, for god's sake. 

"I wasn't angry at you, but you got the rage. I'm really sorry." 

"You were right. I shouldn't have been playing with your guitar. I'm sorry, so sorry..." 

Patrick cuts himself off at the expression on Pete's face, misreading the youth's anger at himself for anger at him. He seems to brace himself for a blow he's sure is coming, eyes cast downward. 

"I won't do it again, I promise, please don't hurt me too bad..." 

"Oh, god, little one, I'm not going to hit you!" 

Trembling a little, Patrick barely manages to meet Pete's eyes before the tears start to slip out of his own terrified baby blues. 

"No, sh, sh, 'Trick, you did nothing wrong. I was a massive asshole, yelling at you. I'm so sorry. You can play it whenever you want, kay? Sh, sh..." 

"You're not going to punish me?" 

The blond boy whispers the sentence and meets Pete's eyes hesitantly.

"Definitely not. I am never going to hit you, little one. I swear on my life."

"Oh... okay." 

Nodding, Patrick takes the cloth from Pete's hands and dabs at his own face, missing the cuts by a few centimeters. The tears have slowed to a stop but Pete's still furious at himself for causing them. 

"Hey, are you okay with me doing that instead? I won't if you don't want me to..." 

"Okay. Thank you."

Taking the cloth, the bleached blond teen smiles apologetically and deftly cleans the cuts. He's gotten awfully good at cleaning wounds over the last week, he thinks sadly.

Pete's just finished placing the last bandaid on Patrick's cheek when the apartment door bursts open to reveal Dallon and Brendon, both grinning. 

"First day at our new job! Ryan was so nice, everyone was so nice and Brendon totally owned this asshole that-" 

"What the hell happened?!" 

Pushing past Dallon, Brendon runs forward to Patrick, carefully examining his cheek before rounding on the bleach blond. 

"What the fuck did you do to him?!" 

Pete opens his mouth to defend himself before the dark haired youth launches himself at the stunned teen, furiously yelling. 

"You asshole! You absolute asshole! We talked and I thought you were a fucking decent person then you fucking hit him and- oh, god, Patrick, I'm so sorry, I thought he was going to leave you alone, I thought he was different, why-" 

"He didn't hurt me, Bren."

Pausing in his rage, Brendon steps away from Pete and turns to stare at the blond boy. 

"What?" 

"My psycho ex came over and when Patrick asked her to leave, she hit him. Thanks for that, by the way, little one. It was pretty brave of you!" 

The blond boy shoots Pete a shy smile before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around a slightly confused Brendon. 

"Pete's not going to hurt me. He promised and I think I believe him. It's okay, Bren." 

"Ah. Um. Okay. Eh, sorry, then. Going off at you like that."

A little ashamed of himself, Brendon apologizes and attempts a smile. 

"All good. It was looking pretty bad, hey." 

It's silent for few moments before Dallons breaks in, eager to diffuse the tension of the room. Patrick untangles himself from his friends as Dallon speaks. 

"Anyway! We have jobs! At a music store! It's awesome!"


	10. Chapter 10

Memories. 

They flow over the black haired boy, so many and so fast that his frantic scribbling can't document enough details before the next recollection comes back. Michael Way. 

Mikey. 

Drawing on the dirt floor, playing at wrestling, communicating so well without words. Their secret of whispered words, the times when Mum wasn't there and they dared to whisper the precious syllables. Mum! Tall, dark hair, calloused hands but kind ones, hugging and being kept safe. Flashes of pink hair and scarred cheeks not unlike his own and whispered words of love and hidden treasures and family and fear and loss and-

Mikey. 

Frank found my brother, Gerard thinks in wonderment. Memories and emotions are fighting for control in his head- excitement and love and loss because she's dead, she's dead, Donna Way is dead and Gerard can't remember her face, no, but he remembers the feel of his lips on his forehead and her arms holding him at night when his nightmares of losing his little family made him afraid. The words on the file in front of the scarred boy swim and for a moment he just has to close his eyes because it's so much. 

"Gerard, you okay?" 

He didn't notice anything but it seems that they've arrived at a destination, the car still with two anxious faces peering back at him. How does he respond to that? He has a brother. A brother with mousy blond hair and poor vision and eyes that he can't quite picture- 

Nodding slightly, Gerard scrawls a few words on his notebook and shows them to Frank. The dark haired boy reads them and nods encouragingly. 

"We're going to see him now. I'm not sure what his owner is like, but I'm just hoping they'll let you see him. You do want to see him, right?" 

His Master's voice is a little high with nerves and Gerard smiles, a real smile. 

'Yes.' 

"Okay, then let's go. C'mon, Lins." 

He can't stay still as Frank rings the doorbell. Still not sure this is actually happening. It's kind of in the middle of nowhere, this Toro man's house. Gerard decides it's a good thing- no neighbors, no one around to gawk at his scars. A slightly frazzled looking woman answers the door and stares at the two boys and Lindsey in confusion as Frank speaks hurriedly. 

"Uh, hi, sorry about this, but we were wondering if we could speak to Ray Toro?" 

Nodding slowly, the woman shrugs and opens the door fully. Her eyes roam over the group, taking in their appearances. Gerard is surprised (and very grateful) when her eyes don't linger on him. 

"Yeah, sure. Ray! People!" 

She shoots a smile at the trio and hurries off, humming under he breath. "Well, here we are?" Frank exchanges a quick glance with Lindsey, and Gerard's not sure what passes between them, but it results in the shorter teen smiling and leading them into the house. They only make it a few metres, however, before a grinning man with a slightly unruly afro meets them. 

"Hello! Who are you?" 

"Um, hi, sir. My name is Frank, this is Gerard and Lindsey, we were wondering if you still owned a slave named Michael Way?" 

The man nods, the grin not leaving his face. 

"Nice to meet you! I'm Ray. Yeah, Michael's still here. We can't find anyone decent to buy him- I don't suppose you're interested? Hey, Mike, can you come here please?"

Gerard holds his breath as a yell of "Yeah, give me a minute!" comes from what must be a lounge room. After a few silent moments a tall youth shuffles into the passage way, yawning. Gerard watches the teen's eyes (they're brown, identical to Gerard's own) oh-so-carefully as they skim over Lindsey and Frank before settling on him. 

They widen and for a moment it feels like the earth has stopped spinning. The scarred teen's heartbeat thuds in his ears as his brother's lips form a single word. 

"Gee?" 

~~~

"Bye Dallon, bye Brendon. See you tomorrow, yeah?" 

Pete practically pushes the two teens out of his apartment. He has an idea, a good one, and for it to work it'd be best if it was just him and Patrick. 

"Hey, Patrick, you feel like a walk? I wanna drop in to the shops and pick up some stuff." 

Smiling hesitantly (the tears have long gone but Pete can still sense a trace of uncertainty in the blond boy's expression) Patrick nods. 

"Sure."

It's a quiet evening, not many people out and about. Cool, but not cold, with just the right amount of a warm breeze blowing through to keep away uncomfort. They chat happily as they walk, Patrick happy to let Pete do most of the talking until they arrive at a topic he loves: music. 

"So, did play anything before, y'know, all this?"

"Oh, yeah! Drums were my first instrument, but I love singing and guitar. And, of course, whenever I could sneak into the music room at school I'd try the double basses and a couple of brass instruments and keyboard and- sorry, I'm babbling!" 

Pete gives the taller boy an indulgent grin and pokes out his tongue playfully.

"Keep going!"

"Okay... well I tried the violin like twice and that always ended badly but I loved the flute, y'know? I really feel like..." 

Happy to give the blond boy the conversation, Pete relaxes and just nods along, asking questions whenever Patrick stops for a breath. Soon they're at the shops and Pete thinks that Patrick has managed to say more in this ten minute walk than he has the entire time he's been owned by Pete. An unhappy shiver goes through Pete as the word 'owned' jumps into his mind. He owns a human being, this beautiful, passionate, slightly terrified but slowly warming teenage boy. That's not fair. 

"Where are we going, anyway?" 

Pete snaps out of his thoughts and grins at Patrick, realizing that they've just walked straight past the food stores and news agencies to get to the quieter half of the mall- the record and CD store, the music store, a couple of clothing outlets and a thrift shop. Pete stops in front of the music store, ignoring Patrick's question and grinning at the sight of the teen's eyes wide. For such a small centre, the mall has quite a decent music store, with instruments of all kinds adorning the walls and shelves. A short youth with curly brown hair is slumped at the counter, headphones in and face hidden in a comic book.

"Joe! Hey!" 

Looking up, Joe rolls his eyes and pulls off his 'phones reluctantly.

"Sup, Wentz, what do you- who's this?" 

Patrick shrinks away a little at the question and Pete winces internally. 

"It's okay, little one. Joe's a good guy." 

The whispered encouragement brings a shy smile to the blond's face and he waves awkwardly at the teen. 

"Hi, I'm Patrick." 

"Hey, bro, I'm Joe, good to meet you- wait a second. Collar. You're a slave." 

Eyes wide and terror creeping in, Patrick takes a subtle step backwards and looks just about ready to bolt before Joe smiles warmly. 

"It's alright, man. Don't worry. I'm kinda against the slavery thing, yeah, but I know all the shit Pete's had to put up with 'cause of his parents and that it's not his fault. So, you into music?" 

Reassured that nothing bad will happen, Patrick enthusiastically replies and without a moment's hesitation he's back to chattering about everything and anything musical. Joe shoots Pete a quick 'it's all good' look and chatters right back. 

Pete shakes in head in disbelief, grinning, and leaves the two to their conversation. Wandering over to the guitar section, he examines the basses. None as good as what he's got, he thinks proudly. Before they decided music was the tool of the devil and the worst career option ever, his parents had encouraged the whole bass thing and bought him this great quality black and red monster. It's his baby. 

"So, Pete, why are you here anyway? It couldn't of just been to introduce Patrick here to my lovely self!" 

"Well..." 

Patrick turns to stare at Pete curiously and the bleach blond teen can't help the smile that comes to his face. 

"Uh, I wanted to buy Patrick an 'i'm sorry' present for before. So, since the stupid thing I yelled at you for was sort of about a guitar, why don't you pick one out?" 

Eyebrows raised, Joe shoots Pete a questioning look but the shorter teen just shakes his head. 

"What, what?"

Patrick's confused. He meets eyes with Pete, brow furrowed, processing his Master's words. 

"I'm really sorry about earlier and thought you might like a guitar so you don't have to steal my bass. You can still play the bass, don't worry!" 

"Really?"

His words are quiet, a whisper, and Pete has to strain to catch them. He whispers back, smiling. 

"Really." 

"You don't have to do that, I don't understand why you would do that, I don't understand..." 

Rolling his eyes, Pete steps forward and gently pushes Patrick in the direction of the guitars. 

"Help me spend my parent's money and feel less guilty!" 

~~~

"Good day today?" 

Dallon and Brendon are slumped next to each other, a bowl of butter-soaked pop corn and the tv remote between them.

"Yeah." 

They're both a little exhausted, hyped from what shouldn't be very exciting but just is. It was Dallon's first time working (protective parents, enormous allowance, limitless inheritance) and Brendon's first time doing actual paid work.

Paid work! He's still a tiny bit giddy about it. 

"Ryan's great, hey?"

"Yeah." 

"Am I just going to get mono-syllabic answers from you tonight?" 

"Yeah." 

Dallon laughs and throws a piece of drenched popcorn at Brendon, eliciting a furious shriek. 

"How dare you!" 

A missile comes flying back at the taller boy and he ducks, dodging it easily. Brendon has terrible aim. 

"You asshole!" 

Not one to give up easily, the slave grins maliciously and ditches a pillow at Dallon, meeting his target: Dallon's face. 

"No! Not the face! Not ma beautiful face!" 

"Beautiful?! In your dreams!" 

Faux-wounded, Dallon gasps dramatically and falls from the couch, snagging a pillow as he goes. Brendon has possibly the stupidest laugh he's ever heard but it's also possibly the best, he thinks, as he throws the pillow and hits Brendon directly on the forehead. 

"Ha!" 

One incredibly violent and incredibly stupid pillow fight later, the pair has collapsed again, this time on the floor next to the lounge. 

"Holy... fuck... my lungs hurt from laughing so much. Bloody hell, Brendon!" 

The dark haired teen laughs and jabs Dallon in the stomach playfully. 

"Your lungs will live. I'm not sure I will, though! You hit me so many freaking times on the head that I might actually have a concussion." 

"But your forehead is such a great target! Since it's so huge..."

Dallon lets the words trail off as Brendon lets out an offended growl. 

"Big forehead, big brain! Also, fuck you!"

"Ha ha, sure. That's totally right, yeah. You're just too arrogant, that's what it is!" 

"Oh, shut up. At least I have a brain up here, unlike yourself!" 

The good-natured insults continue for a few more minutes before Dallon has completely run out of things to say. He's touched on arrogant, cynical, know-it-all and clumsy, and really can't think of how else to fault the grinning boy in front of him.

Brendon, however, seems to have plenty more ammo. 

"And you're way too tall, for god's sake. Seriously! Giant! What even?!" 

"Oh, fine, you win. I dub thee Master of Insults." 

Tapping the slave on each shoulder with the tv remote, Dallon grins widely and bops him on the head gently. Brendon grins back. 

They chat amiably for a few minutes before Dallon asks the question that's been on his mind for days.

"Do... do you like it here? Is it better here?"

For a few silent moments Brendon doesn't respond and the taller teen holds his breath waiting for the answer.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is. Much better."

Dallon lets out a sigh of relief and they settle into a comfortable silence, both smiling. It's just so quiet and peaceful sitting there that Dallon can feel himself slipping into sleep, oh-so-slowly. Before he completely leaves consciousness, however, he registers the gentle weight of Brendon's head leaning on his shoulder. He manages to get out a few whispered words before falling asleep.

"Sweet dreams, Bren."


	11. Chapter 11

Yelling. 

It doesn't wake Patrick, no, the blond boy wasn't sleeping. How could he sleep when there's a beautiful acoustic guitar lying by his bed, strings taunt and ready to be coaxed into creating something beautiful? He's sure it's at least after midnight but he can't bring himself to put down the guitar. An illogical part of him thinks it's just going to be taken away the moment he leaves it. 

The first yell is quiet, desperate but short, and for a moment Patrick thinks he's imagined it. But then it comes again, louder and terrified and he realises it's coming from Pete's room. For a second he considers just ignoring it, and perfecting that melody he's had stuck in his head for days, but his Master takes first priority. Getting up quietly, Patrick pads to the bedroom and knocks gently on the door. 

"Pete?" 

No response comes so the slave opens the door, slipping inside and creeping towards the bed where the bleached blond teen is wrapped in a tangle of sheets. 

"Pete?" 

"No! No! No... I'm sorry, no, little one, why would I... how... no!" 

Hearing the nickname Pete has given him, Patrick nervously crouches by the bedside. Pete doesn't seem to be awake or aware of his presence. He must be locked in his own little world of nightmares and unhappiness, one Patrick is very, very familiar with. 

"Pete! Wake up!" 

Tentatively, not really certain of what to do, Patrick thinks back to every night Pete has appeared to calm him down and runs his fingers through the boy's bleach blond hair. The gesture seems to relax Pete a little (he's at least stopped thrashing) but the teen continues to whimper quietly.

"I can't... no... I don't understand..." 

"Sh, sir, you're okay, sh." 

Patrick mimics the soft tones Pete uses to drag the slave out of his nightmares and continues to card his fingers through Pete's hair. 

"Sh." 

It takes a while, but Pete's brown eyes eventually snap open and he blinks sleepily a few times before realising what's happening. 

"No no I- oh, Patrick, my god, I'm so sorry-" 

Pulling himself into a sitting position, Pete wraps his arms around a surprised Patrick and buries his face in the blond boy's shoulder. 

"You're okay, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, oh thank god, you're okay..." 

The physical contact should scare Patrick (when was the last time someone who owned him hugged him and didn't thrust their hand in between his legs afterwards?) but it doesn't. He doesn't pull away and they just stay like that for a few minutes, Pete sobbing and gasping and whimpering apologies as Patrick whispers reassurances and runs his fingers through Pete's hair. Pete eventually pulls away, face tear stained and apologetic. 

"I- you're okay. You're okay." 

"I'm okay. I'm sorry for coming in here, I heard you yelling and-" 

"Thank you for waking me up, little one. I- I-" 

The freeman seems to want to say something but can't get the words out and instead collapses into tears again. Patrick's not sure what to do. 

He's usually the one terrified and apologetic and scared and this is just confusing him so much. 

"W-what were you dreaming about? Do you want to talk about it?" 

Pete shakes his head slowly, rubbing at his eyes, and attempts a shaky smile. 

"Not really. I just-" 

He cuts himself off and sighs. 

"Did I wake you?" 

"No, I wasn't sleeping." 

"Why not? Your cheek isn't giving you trouble?" 

For a moment Pete pulls himself out of his misery and looks at Patrick worriedly. That's the key then, Patrick thinks. Distract him until he forgets about whatever was making him yell. 

"No, no, I was just messing around with the guitar." 

Pete's face splits into a shaky grin and he shakes his head in faux-annoyance. 

"You have to sleep sometimes. The guitar will still be there in the morning!" 

Patrick laughs quietly and the grin on Pete's face becomes wider, more sturdy. Patrick feels a touch of pride for cheering him up. 

"I probably should go to bed, yeah... unless you want me to stay, sir?" 

A shadow falls over Pete's eyes at the word 'sir' and Patrick flinches in anticipation of a blow, despite his heart knowing it's not going to come. 

Pete promised. 

"No, go back to bed, whatever, thank you for coming in here..." 

Pete trails off and just looks so unhappy that Patrick can't leave him. Not when he's spent so many nights crouched by Patrick's bedside, whispering reassurances. 

"Okay." 

Hesitantly, a little nervous but determined, the blond boy smiles and sits on the bed next to Pete. Pete stiffens for a moment but relaxes, whispering a quiet apology and settling down again. Patrick stays until the other teen's calm, even breathing reassures him that Pete is okay. 

~~~

Dallon snores. It wakes Brendon and for a moment he illogically wants to add it to his list of future insults for the teen. Then he realises the reason that Dallon's  
snoring is so loud- he's resting his head on the freeman's shoulder. 

Woah. 

Wait a fucking minute. He was sleeping. With his head. On his owner's shoulder. Brendon stares at the carpet for a few moments contemplating this. It's really freaking late and his thoughts are kinda fuzzy so it takes him a while to remember why the hell he's leaning against the couch. Ah. Yes. Pillow fight. Brendon's body complains as he gets up, stifling a yawn.

"Ow... hell, Dallon. Why can't you choose a more comfortable place to fall asleep?" 

Dallon doesn't reply. He's asleep, dumbass, a little voice in Brendon's head reminds him. 

"Oh, shut up." 

Brendon stretches languidly before padding over to the kitchen, finding himself a snack and bringing it back to floor. He munches quietly for a few minutes, still not fully awake, before Dallon's pocket that he's leaning against buzzes. As gently as he can (lucky Dallon's a heavy sleeper) the brown haired boy extracts the phone and switches it on, eyes taking a while to focus on the blinking screen. It's Frank Iero calling. Brendon sighs and answers the call. 

"Yello? Brendon here. Dallon's snoring, you can probs hear him. Dude needs to get some help." 

Muffled muttering comes from the phone and Brendon yawns. He hasn't really talked to Gerard's owner much. The guy seems okay- a bit of a brooder, but treats Gerard well. 

"Yeah, it's late, sorry, can you wake Dallon up? Or, better plan, meet me outside in five?" 

It's too late for this sort of shit, Brendon thinks wearily. 

"Whatever. What's going on?" 

"Uh, see you in a few minutes." 

Frank hangs up, leaving Brendon very confused. Frank's pacing outside the apartment door when he opens it. 

"What's up?" 

"Uh, do you have a couch I can borrow? Gerard and Mikey haven't separated since we," 

the dark haired youth stifles a yawn, 

"Got back and basically just collapsed into my bed. Lindsey snores like a fucking chainsaw and is collapsed in Gee's bed and I," 

Frank yawns again and Brendon has to hold back a laugh at the adorable sleepiness of the shorter man, 

"Really need a place to crash. But if-" 

"Take the bed." 

Brendon pushes Frank towards the bedroom and staggers back to the couch, collapsing next to Dallon. His shoulder was actually strangely comfortable and Brendon really needs to sleep. Seriously. 

"Are you su-"

"Shut up and sleep!" 

Frank obeys Brendon without complaint. Brendon's just drifting off to sleep when Dallon stirs, mumbling sleepily. 

"Whasgoinon?" 

"Nothing. Go back to sleep." 

Feeling Dallon's shrug, Brendon smiles into his shoulder and it's quiet again as both boys drift off to sleep. A thought invades Brendon's dreams, however, something vaguely important he probably should've payed attention to when Frank was talking- someone called Mikey. Who the hell is Mikey? 

~~~

"Oh my god, Gerard. You're alive! You're alive!" 

Frank can't sleep. He blamed it on Lindsey's snoring back in his apartment, but now he's in Dallon's silent room and sleep still evades him. He keeps replaying the memories of the day over and over in his head. 

The tall youth had stared at Gerard with a mixture of ecstasy and confusion. 

"Gee?" 

The black haired teen had stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his brother, burying his face in his shoulder. 

"My god, Gee, Gee, I thought you were dead, I never thought I'd see you again! Gee!" 

Michael Way, or Mikey as his brother called him, had kept repeating Gerard's name like he couldn't believe he was real. Ray, Lindsey and Frank had watched on, Ray slightly bemused but happy and Lindsey and Frank beaming. 

"It's been so so long, Gee what happened to you? Gerard, Gerard, Gerard... we can talk now, it's okay. No one's going to find us now."

Still clinging to Mikey, Gerard had removed his head from his younger brother's shoulder and whispered something in the blond boy's ear, to Frank's surprise. He didn't know Gerard even could talk. 

"You haven't spoken in all this time, have you. We're going to have to change that, aren't we, big bro?" 

Nodding with a grin on his face, Gerard had turned to Frank with a curious expression in his eyes. Frank nods and smiles encouraging, and Gerard beams. 

"Um, Mr Toro, you said you were interested in selling Michael?" 

"Oh, right. You own Gerard?"

Frank had nodded. 

"Yeah." 

"And you didn't... give him the... scars, did you?" 

"No, no, no, definitely not. No." 

Ray's face had relaxed into a grin. 

"I had hoped not. So, Mike, you ready to leave?" 

"Yep!" 

Mikey and Gerard had refused to let go of each other as the younger threw a few belongings into a beaten up suitcase and hugged Ray and his wife.

"Thank you so much for looking after me, Ray. And thank you, Christina, you've been the best..." 

The blond youth trailed off. 

"Keep in touch, yeah? We'll miss having you 'round here. And it was the least we could do, kid." 

Ray's grin doesn't leave his face but both him and his wife were crying a little as they had waved goodbye. Frank's not sure about their relationship with Mikey- he seemed too happy about Gerard to be sad about leaving them but his thanks were incredibly heartfelt. 

The drive home had been strange, Frank recalls. Lindsey had stayed weirdly quiet as Frank watched the brothers. Mikey hadn't stopped talking, asking questions and flipping through Gerard's notebook and grinning and crying a little as he traced his fingers over the older boy's scars. The fourteen year old had only spoken to Frank twice- once to guardedly ask him about how Gerard had gotten the scars, and once to thank him. After a while the chatter had stopped and Frank had looked back to see both boys fast asleep. 

They had arrived home late at night. Lindsey had grinned at Frank, stole his keys and sprinted inside, collapsing on Gerard's camp bed. She was snoring in seconds. Frank had gently shaken Gerard and Mikey awake, directed the sleepy pair to his bed then collapsed on the couch. Where he didn't sleep.

He's just about ready to start banging his head against the wall, now, eyelids heavy but sleep not coming. The dark haired boy paces, paces, paces, until he's exhausted, but he still can't fall into the world of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is short and kind of crappy.   
> YOU'RE SECONDHAND SMOKE, SECONDHAND SMOKE, I BREATHE YOU IN BUT HONEY I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU DOING TO MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE  
> *I'm in love with Irresistable*
> 
> {If you hadn't guessed, Pete was dreaming about hurting Patrick. It's his worst nightmare, hurting the people he cares about, especially Patrick.}


	12. Chapter 12

Mikey. 

A single word had been whispered in Michael Way's ear and in that instant, he knew he had his brother back. And he knew that nobody was ever going to tear them apart again. 

That's what Frank has hypothesized, anyway. He just didn't think Mikey would be taking it so literally, but he is, and it's adorable. The Way brothers have been attached at the hip since they reunited and now, as the dark haired teen fixes breakfast and watches the pair, he can't help but grin. 

Lindsey had left a few minutes earlier, only staying long enough to drag Frank out of Dallon's apartment and yell, "Band practise in twenty minutes!". Gerard had greeted a yawning Frank (he finally, finally fell asleep- just in time to be woken up again) with an overjoyed grin. With only slightly less enthusiasm had Mikey smiled a hello. The tall youth is laughing at something Gerard has drawn now as the pair of them flip through the scarred boy's sketchbook.

"Is that me? It's so good, Gee, wow..."

Gerard smiles shyly and scribbles something quickly, drawing another laugh from Mikey. 

"Uh, sorry, you two want food?" 

Awkward, nervous that he's interrupting, Frank pushes various cereal boxes and a carton of milk at Gerard and Mikey. He's rewarded by two bright smiles. Mikey's, however, dims a little as he picks up on the unhappiness behind his words, and he shakes his head frantically.

"Don't be sorry! It's thanks to you that we can even be together..." 

The blond haired boy trails off and fixes the freeman in front of him with a serious look (which is somewhat made a lot less serious by his goofy glasses and ridiculously  
messy bedhead). Frank can't help but let out a quiet laugh at the seriousness of the kid. He can't be more than, what, fourteen years old? But then the annoying voice in Frank's head speaks up and reminds him what this kid might have already gone through. Wincing internally and attempting to drag himself away from imagining the horrible possibilities, Frank plasters a smile on his face and nods. 

"It was the least I could do." 

Mikey nods, seemingly satisfied with his answer, and beams as he serves himself possibly the weirdest combination of four different cereals Frank has ever seen. He then proceeds to casually eat them dry, chomping the multi-coloured pieces happily until he catches Frank's slightly bemused expression. 

"What?"

"Cornflakes and Cap'n Crunch? And Weeties? Together?" 

"Yeah?" 

Shaking his head, the dark haired boy turns away for a moment to pour himself a glass of the random juice Gerard picked out (after being told he could choose whatever, Gerard had looked at Frank with wide eyes and proceeded to fill the trolley with the world's weirdest assortment of groceries. They'd sat on the floor together later that night, Frank laughing at the slave's choices but sobering a little after the boy wrote that he'd never been allowed to pick his own food before). 

"Crazy."

The word is a hesitant whisper- Frank barely picks up the sound- but he can tell who the speaker is in a moment, despite never really hearing the boy's voice before. Gerard. He whirls around and sees the black haired boy blushing slightly at the ecstatic expressions on both his Master and brother's faces. 

"Gee!" 

The two teens say the word in the same breath and burst out laughing at the unplanned synchronization. Their eyes meet and Frank feels a grin make its way onto his face. He's so glad it's not awkward. At the start he had his doubts, had his fears that Mikey would feel uncomfortable around him or be overly protective of Gerard... but as of yet he thinks that they're getting along well. That's weird in itself for Frank. He's never been exactly the most social person, that's for sure, but since Gerard... Frank lets the thought trail away as Gerard's eyes find his. The scarred teen is happy, so unbelievably happy, and Frank can see it in his dancing brown eyes. 

~~~

"So, what to you want to do today? I mean, we don't have to do anything, I dunno.." 

Mikey stifles a laugh at the expression on Frank's face. This man, this kid, the person who owns him but is barely older than him, is not like the Masters Mikey went through before Ray and Christina found him. They got lucky, he thinks. So very lucky. 

"We can do whatever you want." 

~~~

He's woken by a girl yelling at the top of her lungs. Something or other about a band practice. Whatever she's yelling and whoever she is, she's gone before Dallon can open his eyes. He vaguely registers a weight on his shoulder and Frank thanking him for something (he's almost sure this is just a dream) before he drags his eyelids open. 

"What... what..." 

Turning his head slightly, Dallon notices that Brendon's head is the weight on his shoulder. Brendon looks adorable asleep, some part of his mind that is obviously slightly removed from the situation notes. 

"Okay, what the fuck is going on. Brendon! Brendon! There were people in our apartment. Why were there people?!" 

The brown haired slave makes a muffled and some very cute sleepy noises before removing his head from his Master's shoulder, blinking a couple of times and smiling. 

"Frank slept in your bed because Mikey and Gerard took his." 

"And who the hell is Mikey?" 

Brendon yawns and stretches luxuriously before frowning, his brow furrowing. 

"I have no fucking clue." 

~~~

They're banging on Frank's door half an hour later, both bodies complaining from spending the night on the floor. 

"Frank! What the fuck is going on!" 

A blond boy a little younger than Dallon answers the door with a slightly grumpy expression on his face. 

"Who are you?" 

"Um, sup? I'm Dallon and this is Brendon. Can we come in and yell at Frank for waking us up far too early?" 

"It's eight thirty, I'd hardly call that early-" a hand drags Mikey inside and suddenly Gerard is grinning out at Brendon and Dallon, eyes alight with happiness. 

"Gee!" 

The scarred boy steps forward at Brendon's exclamation and attaches himself to Brendon, much to the other teen's surprise. 

"Hey, Gee. What's going on?" 

Hugging back tightly, Brendon grins and ruffles Gerard's dark hair. They separate for a moment and Gerard shoots a glance back into the apartment where the stranger is watching on, looking almost as if he is asking permission for something. Brendon and Dallon look on in confusion as the blond nods encouragingly. 

"They won't find us now. It's okay." 

Gerard nods and steps forward, lips close to Brendon's ear as he whispers, "Mikey." Eyes wide, the brown haired slave stares at his formerly silent friend. 

"Gerard you- Mikey? His name is Mikey?" 

Turning to the blond in the doorway, Brendon unashamedly stares. 

"I'm his brother. Frank found me and, uh, bought me." 

Brendon shrugs and grins widely, hugging Gerard again before bouncing over to Mikey, chattering and shooting rapid fire questions at the blond teen. 

"Should I go get Patrick and Pete?" 

Dallon feels slightly out of place. He hasn't really interacted with Gerard before and has no idea how to treat this Mikey kid. Is he also a slave? No visible scars and he looks healthy, Dallon thinks. Gerard catches his eye and nods happily in response to the question. 

~~~

The sun streaming through his bedroom window wakes Pete and he forces his eyes open, yawning loudly. He's content to sit and blink away the sleepiness before memories of last night slam into him. That horrible nightmare. Patrick slumped against a wall, eyes terrified and face bloody, pleading for Pete not to hurt him. 

But that's happened in real life, hasn't it? Patrick convinced that Pete is going to punish him for some tiny thing. Closing his eyes and pushing the memories away, Pete stretches quickly and gets up, silently leaving his room and padding past the mattress where Patrick sleeps soundly. No nightmares for the slave last night. Pete grins at that thought and busies himself in the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible as he fixes something for breakfast. 

He's obviously not quiet enough because, a few minutes in to his task, Patrick stirs. Baby blues flicker open. 

"Morning, little one. Want some cereal?" 

"Yes please." 

The blond boy's voice is heavy with sleep and he yawns drowsily. 

"Sorry about keeping you up last night. What time did you go back to bed?" 

Shrugging, Patrick smiles sleepily and stretches before responding. 

"I dunno. Three, maybe?" 

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry 'Trick." 

"I've kept you up longer." 

It's now Pete's turn to shrug. 

It's comfortably quiet for a while. Both teens are still yawning, a little low on sleep, but both happy. Pete's been able to almost completely banish the unhappiness of his nightmare. Seeing Patrick unhurt and smiling and happy has been able to almost drive away the images of him cowering and injured. 

A tiny shard of disgust at himself still remains, however, and as he munches on cereal, Pete tries to push it away, unsuccessfully. 

"What are we doing today?" 

Patrick's question is slightly hesitant. Shrugging, Pete grins and is pleased to see Patrick smile back. 

"I dunno. We could go over to Frank's or Dallon's if you want, if they're not busy." 

The blond slave grins and opens his mouth to respond before a knock on the door interrupts them. 

"I got it!" 

Pete volunteers quickly, really not wanting a repeat of what happened last time Patrick answered the door. Dallon is standing outside, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

"Uh, morning Pete, hi Patrick, Gerard has a brother and he actually spoke so maybe come over like right now?!" 

Dallon can't get the words out fast enough and trips over them in his urgency but Patrick and Pete get his message clearly. 

~~~

They're crowded in Frank's living room, Gerard and Mikey sharing the couch with Patrick and Brendon. Frank is sitting crosslegged on the floor in front of the couch with Dallon, and Pete is curled in the beanbag. Explanations of yesterday's road trip have been given and Mikey is talking about what happened before Ray and Christina. It's obviously not a very comfortable subject for him, Pete notes, and he quietens. Gerard hugs his brother and they stay silent for a few moments before Frank speaks up. 

"Uh, food? Anyone want lunch? I'm gonna order pizza, everyone cool with it?" 

The group nods as one. They move on to happier subjects, splintering into smaller groups. Gerard writes his concern for Patrick's cheek and shoots Pete death glares for a full minute before Patrick explains what happened. Dallon and Brendon will not be shut up about their new jobs, talking to anyone that will listen. Pete confides to Frank about his dream. The shorter teen sympathizes and shares his similar fears- he's been raised on the belief that slaves are worthless. Gerard has changed him, but he's afraid of what could have happened. And, of course, he's scared of what will happen once his parents invite themselves over and come face to face with his silent slave. 

But Gerard's not silent anymore, is he? He has Mikey now, and whatever they're talking about when Mikey reassures his older brother 'no one will find us now'. Frank gulps when he thinks of his mother seeing Mikey and Gee together, happy and unharmed and safe. She won't like it. 

The group spend the day in each other's company. Mikey fits in seamlessly, and although Gerard and Patrick still tend to stick together and shy away from the larger conversations, Mikey is incredibly social and Brendon is just a hyperactive bundle of confidence. 

It's a little after eight by the time Pete and Patrick's yawning gets too much for Frank and he sends them to their apartment. No one asks why they're so tired, but Gerard and Brendon know enough of Patrick's nightmares and of course Frank was told of the previous night's events. 

Pete didn't tell him about Patrick's reaction, however. Didn't tell him about the way the timid blond boy dragged him out of his devastating nightmare world and murmured reassurances. A selfish part of him wants to keep that memory to himself. The bleach blond teen lies awake that night, thinking back to the night and the fact that Patrick didn't flinch when a panicking Pete hugged him.

Brendon and Dallon leave a little time after and retire to their separate beds. Brendon feels strangely despondent about this fact, as does the other teen. 

After much apologizing (from Mikey) and many reassurances that "you can't exactly share the camp bed, can you, idiots," (from Frank) Gerard and Mikey share Frank's bed again. The freeman collapses on Gerard's remarkably comfortable camp bed and thankfully falls asleep in a matter of seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KEEP YOU LIKE AN OATH, MAY NOTHING BUT DEATH DO US PART aaaaaaand I'm in love with Uma Thurman. 
> 
> Cricket was not actually as boring as I thought it would be (pyrotechnics! Cute girls and boys! Bad music and stadium wide singalongs! Mexican waves!) and I got a chapter done so yay. Now if anyone wants to make my day could you please leave a comment telling me which storyline (frerard, peterick or brallon) you like best and which one you think needs more work? It would really mean a lot to me and help me out heaps. 
> 
> Love you all!
> 
> Sorry that this is such a long note...
> 
> I've been rereading this story and I notice that I randomly changed Patrick's eye colour from brown to blue. Oops. 
> 
> Praying for Joe Trohman and his family, his mother passed away yesterday.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback again! This may not be that great, I just really wanted to write it, sorry.

"Have I mentioned that I hate your sister recently?" 

"Not really. No, wait, I recall you saying something about it... maybe once? Or twice? Or non stop since we left the house?!" 

The tall man snickers at the irritated woman's words and grins at his wife until she begins to laugh, shaking her head. 

"Yes, you have mentioned it." 

"Sorry, Chrissy. I'll shut up now." 

"Thank you, sweetheart." 

Pressing a kiss to her husband's cheek, the woman grabs his hand and pulls him forward, dragging him through the gates of the slave market.

"God, I hate this place." 

Ray nods feverently at his wife's statement. If it was up to him he'd be far, far away from this horrible place, but Christina's family insisted on holding a picnic for the newly weds. Her sister had suggested some gardens just outside the markets as the location so here the pair were, pushing their way through a thick crowd. 

"Why couldn't we have just walked around it?" 

"You know it's like four freaking kilometres wide, honey, and I'm in heels- oh my god, there's a kid. Ray, he's just a little boy!" 

Ray follows his wife's stare. His eyes fall on a tiny blond boy pressed against the bars of his cage as far away from the crowd as possible, brown eyes wide and terrified. He can't be more than ten years old. 

"They're going to sell him, oh god, Ray..." 

Trailing off, Christina hurriedly pushes her way through the crowd towards the child. Ray follows. As they get closer, the pair notice the dried tears tracking down the boy's face. Seeing the couple's eyes on him, the kid hunches his shoulders a little more and stares back, eyes almost pleading. 

"He's so thin, lordy, Ray, he's just a kid!" 

Christina is on the verge of tears and Ray hugs her quickly, letting her bury her face in his shoulder. The diminutive boy meets the curly haired man's eyes as he comforts his wife and Ray has to fight a shiver as the blank gaze seems to look straight through him. 

"We can't leave him here, Ray. He won't last a minute..." 

Nodding in agreement, the man gently pushes Christina away a little and waves to get the attention of a trader. 

"How much for the boy?" 

"'He's goin' cheap, too young for almos' everyone. Had a pretty brother," the trader pauses to leer nastily and Ray pushes down disgust, "but he got sold ages back. Why ya askin', ya interested?" 

Fro bouncing as he nods, Ray pays quickly. 

"Chrissy, will your family be absolutely furious if we miss the picnic?" 

Staring at the tiny kid they now own (Christina has to bite back bile at the thought), she shrugs. 

"Probably. C'mon, let's get out of here." 

As soon as they arrive at their car, Christina unlocks the heavy shackles dragging the boy's wrists down and smiles kindly at him. 

"It's okay, sweetie. We're not going to hurt you." 

The child stares back blankly and ducks his head. 

"Do you have a name, sweetie?" 

Nodding, the child stays silent. 

"Okay. We're going to our house now. It's only a little way." 

Ray drives as Christina continues to speak to the tiny slave, voice calm and reassuring. The kid doesn't speak back, no, but as Ray watches in the rearview mirror, his stare slowly becomes less blank until a little life appears in those huge brown eyes. 

They arrive home after half an hour or so of driving and Christina gently leads the boy out of the car. 

"Would you like something to eat?" 

Nodding shyly, the boy allows the woman to take his hand and pull him into the kitchen where she offers him various items. Ray watches on sadly as the slave's eyes go wide and turn to Christina as if asking permission and she nods encouragingly.

~~~

Christina lies a blanket over the boy where he's fallen asleep on the couch and smiles up at Ray, eyes tired. 

"We don't have enough money to buy out his contract, do we." 

Shaking his head, Ray sighs.

"No. We basically spent our honeymoon money on just getting him out of there." 

Christina nods soberly and steps forward, lacing arms around her husband and grinning up at him. 

"Kids are hard work. Let's go to bed." 

She's lying, Ray thinks to himself, amused as he lets his wife lead him into their under-furnished bedroom. The little slave had eaten whatever Chrissy could find for him before hugging her quickly and curling up on the couch- definitely not hard work.

His wife had been quite surprised by the hug, Ray remembers, and he smiles to himself. Christina loves children, but is physically unable to give birth to her own. Ray winces as he remembers the countless nights she'd spent sobbing after being told by the doctors. He hates those heartbreaking sobs and never wants to hear his wonderful wife so upset again.

So, they hadn't exactly been planning a kid (how could they?), but now they had one.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and how it's been so long, I'm so sorry I've been gone, I was busy procrastinating and being sick and going back to school and crying over AB/AP...  
> This is a hella short chapter oops yeah I'm so sorry that I took so long to update? Luckily my writing mojo is back because for a while there I was hella scared because I couldn't write anything decent.... ALL THE COMMENTS I'VE GOTTEN TELLING ME WHICH SHIP THEY PREFER (I asked you guys to give me some feedback last chapter) ARE ACTUALLY THE BEST THING EVER AND I'M SO GRATEFUL THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!

Whispers. 

They wake Frank and he stretches before blinking his eyes open sleepily. There's no one in the living room or kitchen of his apartment- the muffled whispering is coming from his bedroom. Frank yawns before a smile comes to his face. Gerard and Mikey must already be awake. Content to lie in the strangely comfortable camp bed for a while, the teen lets his thoughts wander as his roaming eyes settle on the couch in front of him.

He's happy. 

Well rested, also, thank goodness, recovered from the random bout of insomnia that had kept him up on Mikey's first night. It was horrible, his thoughts running wild and head pounding as sleep stayed stubbornly absent. Frank wonders how Pete deals with it before wincing as he remembers the pills lined up on the top shelf of his friend's bathroom cupboard, white bottles promising sleep and the fuzziness Pete hates so much. Frank realizes how little he's talked to Pete in the last week, what with moving and Gerard and Mikey and everything, and has to push down guilt. Pete has seemed happy when they've spoken. 

Footsteps pull Frank out of his thoughts and he looks up to see Mikey and a yawning Gerard entering the room. Gerard waves shyly and Mikey grins enthusiastically.

"Hey, Frank!" 

"Morning Mikey, Gerard. How'd you guys sleep?" 

"Really well. We'll get breakfast, yeah?" 

Nodding gratefully at Mikey's suggestion, Frank drags himself up and stumbles over to the bathroom, locking the door behind him and shedding his clothes quickly. A thought hits him as he locates a bar of soap, mind wandering. Should he feel bad about Mikey offering to cook? Should he feel bad about Gerard being the only person in his apartment preparing food and cleaning during the past week and a bit? 

God, Frank thinks with a touch of surprise, he's never questioned things like this before. He's only known Gerard for a little over a week but his entire mindset is changing. Not much time has passed since the slave market and leaving his family's house but he feels like a completely different person, honestly, how the hell could he think slaves were below him? 

Turning on the shower and relaxing into the hot spray, Frank shakes his head silently. Gerard's changed him. He makes a mental note to arrange a coffee date or some shit with Pete and Dallon without Gerard or any of the others. He needs to talk to his best friends, see whether this is happening to them. Frank grins to himself as he strains his ears to hear Mikey praising Gerard for something or other. He loves the fact that he can't imagine living anywhere else than here with Mikey and Gee.

~~~

"Don't we have work today?" 

Dallon has to hold back a laugh as Brendon turns puppy dog eyes on him. 

"No, Bren, sorry." 

"Aw, but..." 

Sticking out his tongue at the smaller teen, Dallon moves to open the fridge and searches through it. There's pretty much nothing edible left. 

"So, can you make anything out of half a carton of orange juice and a block of cheddar?" 

Brendon giggles and peers over Dallon's shoulder.

"Nope." 

"I'm so disappointed in you! I expected so much more from a culinary genius like you." 

"Oh, come on. I doubt even the world's greatest chef could do something with this pitiful an inventory." 

"They did it on Masterchef!" 

Brendon laughs and pokes Dallon playfully. 

"Bull." 

They trade insults for a few minutes, falling into a familiarly playful banter. 

"Whatever, dumbass. At least I can reach the top shelf without a footstool!" 

"We've already discussed this, oh Abnormally Tall One. No need to bring it up again." 

"Oh, wow, seriously, I'm not abnormal. Your massive forehead's abnormal, if anything!" 

Gasping, mock-offended, Brendon spits out a "Fuck you!" 

Grinning maliciously, Dallon raises his eyebrows before responding with, "You offering?" The dark haired teen's comebacks are usually limited to 'ya mum' and 'that's what she said' so he's pretty proud of himself until he sees Brendon's expression change. The slave's face becomes closed off and Dallon wants to throw himself of a building. 

Idiot. He definitely crossed a line there. 

"Sorry, man. That wasn't okay." 

Brendon won't meet his eyes and sighs quietly. 

"Yeah, it kinda wasn't."

Sitting down heavily, the slave forces a smile and motions for Dallon to join him. Hating himself, the freeman quickly settles himself next to Brendon, making sure to leave a few centimeters between. And they'd been getting along so well. For god's sake, Brendon had fallen asleep next to him, fluffy brown head resting on his shoulder! Of course Dallon had to fuck it up. 

"I, I just, I hate it. It's so peaceful here and sometimes I can just forget what I am but then- yeah." 

Staying silent, Dallon watches Brendon, taking in the creases on the other teen's forehead, the unhappiness in his eyes, the way his shoulders curl forward. 

"All my life I've had people say stuff like that to me before they..." Brendon sighs, "y'know and... I know you didn't mean it like that, but I, yeah." 

Understanding what the smaller teen is trying to get across, Dallon nods soberly. 

"I'm really sorry."

It's silent for a minute or two before Brendon, to Dallon's surprise and happiness, rests his head on the other boy's shoulder. 

~~~

"No nightmares, 'Trick!" 

Watching Pete amusedly as the bleach blond teen bounces around the apartment, Patrick doesn't fight the smile forcing it's way onto his pale face. 

"For either of us." 

Nodding feverently in agreement, Pete shoots the other teen a grin and collapses next to the couch where Patrick is sitting. 

"We deserve some sort of reward for this, hey! Want to go annoy someone?" 

"Can I shower first?" 

The smile suddenly falls from Pete's face and he responds quietly, eyes lowered and voice a little sad. 

"You don't have to ask, little one." 

Patrick nods shyly, sending Pete a somewhat apologetic smile before moving away, snagging a shirt and a pair of jeans. He's closing the door of the bathroom when he notices how Pete's eyes are trained on him, expression guilty. Patrick's not sure what to think. Pete's been acting weird since- okay, stuff that, he's been weird the entire time he's owned Patrick. Holy smokes, Patrick just doesn't understand. His Master who doesn't want to be his Master treats him like a human, an actual human. He bought him a guitar, for goodness sake! 

Trying to pull his thoughts away from Pete, the blond boy hurriedly pulls off his clothes and steps into the shower, relishing the hot water. He doesn't think he'll ever take showers for granted again. 

~~~

Pete paces after Patrick leaves the room. Waking up this morning, he knew it was going to be one of those days. Those days where the smallest thing could send him into one of those moods, those moods where he just wants to find the nearest subway and jump in front of a train. 

Patrick's voice snaps Pete out of his thoughts and the bleach blond teen hurries to stand as close as possible to the bathroom door. He's made a slightly unhealthy habit of eavesdropping on Patrick as the teen showers. The blond boy doesn't sing outside of the bathroom- to be honest, Pete doesn't think Patrick knows he can be heard over the spray of the shower, heh. 

So yeah, Pete's taken to listening to at doors to hear Patrick's beautiful voice. It's creepy as hell and Pete knows that but he can't stop. 

"Just dance like you're disappointed in the world!"

Pete's phone buzzes and he tears himself away from Patrick's voice (he's singing something new today, experimenting with some different melodies and rhythms) to see it's a message from Frank, asking Pete to meet Dallon and him outside ASAP. Scribbling a quick note for Patrick, Pete sends one last glance towards the bathroom door before rushing outside.

~~~

Frank hadn't bothered knocking, of course, and so had walked in on Brendon and Dallon slumped silently against the wall together. 

He feels kind of bad about that.

It had been awkward for a few moments after the dark haired teen had cleared his throat loudly to get Dallon's attention. Frank had the horrible feeling that he'd interrupted something, but the two teens had sprung apart quickly with smiles plastered upon each face, greeting him with near-identical expressions. 

He kind of wishes he'd knocked. 

Brendon had waved goodbye as Frank apologetically dragged Dallon away, a slightly resigned smile on his face. 

"Hey, Pete, we're going out for coffee. You're coming." 

Receiving a wry smile from Pete as he exits his apartment, Frank grins as the bleach blond follows them outside. 

"You don't even like coffee, Frank. What's up?" 

Shrugging innocently, Frank leads the way down the cracked pavement to the small coffee shop nestled next to the apartment blocks. 

"Just wanted to talk to you two." 

It's quiet for a few minutes as they settle into a dimly lit booth. Dallon is staring into space, suspiciously silent, and Frank is curious. 

"So, Dallon, what's going on with you and Brendon?" 

"I said something a bit inappropriate to him this morning and I feel like shit about it." 

Nodding in sympathy, Frank and Pete turn eyes to their friend. Dallon's not often guilty and quiet like this- slightly depressed when he feels useless, yes, but not quiet, and it worries Frank. 

"What did you say?" 

"We were joking around, it was just something I'd say to one of you guys, and..." 

Dallon gestures helplessly before placing his hands in his lap. 

"I know what you mean, hey. Did I tell you guys how I yelled at Patrick over some stupid little thing and he kinda freaked? I was just pissed at Ashlee and took it out on him and I still feel horrible about it." 

~~~

So, Frank thinks to himself an hour or two later, they go out to see each other and talk about Brendon, Gerard and Patrick pretty much the entire time. He's not exactly bothered by that- the happiness on Pete's face when he talks about Patrick staying up far too late playing guitar is gold.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little chapter, sorry, it just felt natural to leave it there. I'll update with a full chapter this weekend hopefully but for now, have a little bit of quietness.   
> ((I've gotten such lovely comments on this story recently and it makes me so happy so thank you all so much))

Peaceful. 

They're quiet now, something rare both now and then. The only sound is faintly that of Mikey talking to Ray and Christina over Skype next door- Frank had left the blond youth his laptop and a hastily scribbled note reading 'call them'. The younger Way brother has been so happy, too happy to miss who are practically his foster parents, but he loves them a lot. 

Back in Pete's apartment, no one seems to wish to talk, and they're all comfortable with that. Brendon's chatter used to never pause, always keeping their spirits up and making them smile when there wasn't anything else to smile at.

It's a little more okay to be quiet now. 

It's not an unhappy, lonely quiet, anyway, that's for sure. It's a peaceful quiet.

Brendon's curled on the couch, head in Gerard's lap as the dark haired teen plays with his hair. Patrick is leaning against Gerard's jeans, eyes closed and breathing slow. None of them are traditionally very tactile people (except Brendon, who's about as touchy-feely as they come), but it just feels right to sit together like this. Maybe it's a coping mechanism left over from the dark days of pain and sleeplessness in the rooms, or maybe it's just that their friendship is something founded on helping and comforting each other. 

Breaking the silence, Brendon speaks up softly, hesitant to interrupt the peace.

"How's your ankle, 'Trick?" 

Patrick turns his head to smile up at his friend. 

"It's pretty much healed, I think. Pete says that it is, anyway. It feels good." 

Satisfied, Brendon nods silently before closing his eyes and sighing contently. Dallon's the best Master he's ever had, honestly, not much of a Master at all, but it's good to just be with his friends for a while. 

Gerard and Patrick feel the same, to different degrees. The blond teen is slowly feeling more and more comfortable with Pete, but it worries him that every time he says something submissive on reflex, that guilty, self-loathing expression on appears on Pete's face. Pete shouldn't feel guilty, Patrick thinks. Definitely not.

The ecstasy of Mikey! Mikey! Mikey! hasn't worn off, Gerard doesn't think it ever will, and Frank's been nothing but the best, apologetic and friendly and accepting. But Gerard just needs quiet sometimes, a chance to get away from the expectations of words. He's trying, honestly, to choke out the hesitant syllables, and Frank and Mikey's encouragement and joy over that is gratifying. But it's so much. Writing and silence is just... not so much easier, but comfortable. 

A thought hits the black haired boy and he acts on it quickly, grabbing his notebook and scribbling a few words before tapping Patrick gently on the shoulder. The blond haired youth flinches a little at the sudden movement and him and Gerard trade apologetic smiles. 

"When will they get back? I don't know, Pete left while I was showering. Sorry."

Shrugging, Gerard sends Patrick a smile and places his notebook down again. Another question surfaces and Gerard quickly scribbles it down. He shows the words to Brendon first this time and is rewarded with a quiet laugh. 

"Yeah, I think so. What do you think, Patrick? Are we happy here?" 

Patrick smiles, baby blues bright. 

"Yeah."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More notes at the bottom but argh I'm so sorry I took so long to update :/

Shit. 

It's all Frank can think right now, shit, shit, shit! Everything was going so well. Gerard was smiling- talking, even- and Mikey was happy and everything was going so well before he receives one stupid text. 

"Hey, Frank, Christine says that- hey, what's wrong?" 

Mikey pads back into the apartment, carrying Frank's laptop carefully as he lets himself in. His bright smile dims when Frank doesn't respond. Shit, oh shit. 

"Frank?" 

"My... my parents are coming over. In, like, half an hour." 

"And that's bad?" 

Stifling a humorless laugh, Frank has to force himself not to take out his annoyance on the curious boy in front of him. It's not Mikey's fault Mr and Mrs Iero are so painful and... ugh. 

"Gerard will tell you that it's bad." 

Mikey nods and hurries off, presumably to ask Gerard as he realizes he's not going to get much more out of Frank. He'll have to ask Pete or Dallon whether Mikey can stay with them for a while, Frank thinks. Unfortunately his parents will get suspicious if Gerard's not there, otherwise he'd get the quiet slave out of harm's way. Jolted out of his thoughts by a tap on the shoulder, Frank turns to see Gerard handing him the notebook. 

'Does Mikey have to be here?' 

About to respond, a few scrawled words that must have answered Mikey's questions catch Frank's eye. 

'She's a slave-basher.'

Shaking away the sick feeling in his stomach, Frank forces a reassuring smile. 

"No. Mikes, do you want to go to Dallon's or Pete's?" 

"Pete's." 

Despite his usually talkative nature, Mikey is quiet and Frank winces silently as the teen turns questioning eyes on him. They're not as identical to Gerard's as he first thought, Frank realizes as he stares into the hazel depths. Gerard's eyes are greener, with longer eyelashes. Stifling a bemused giggle (because honestly, debating eye colours is not what Frank should be doing right now), Frank drags his focus back to Mikey. 

"Go over there now, kay? Just tell Pete my parents are over, he'll get it." 

Nodding silently, the blond pulls his brother into a tight hug and holds him there for more than a few moments, leaving Frank feeling more than a little awkward. 

"We'll come and get you when they're gone, don't worry." 

"Okay. Bye, Frank." 

Mikey walks out of the apartment without a look back but Frank can see the worry in his brow- too much worry for someone so young, Frank thinks. 

~~~

The knock on the door is unexpected. Pete has only been back from the coffee date- heh, date, Dallon and Frank would never stoop as low to date Pete- for a few minutes. Patrick pauses in his strumming to raise his eyebrows at Pete but the bleach blond teen just shrugs and goes to open the door. Gerard's little brother is standing outside, hands in pockets and posture a little slumped. 

"Hey Mikeyway, what's up?" 

Of course Pete has already given Mikey a nickname. Despite only knowing each other for a few days, the older teen and the younger boy hit it off quickly and have fast become friends.

"Frank's parents are over." 

Nodding sagely, Pete smiles at Mikey and indicates for the teen to follow him into their apartment. 

"Hey, 'Trick, Mikey is gonna be chilling here for a couple of hours." 

Patrick waves a hand in greeting before turning back to the guitar, humming a tune under his breath and picking out a rough tune to accompany it. The bleach blond teen has to stop and listen for a moment- it's good. It's ridiculously good, sweet and a little nervous but catchy and beautiful.

"Little one, that's awesome! Is it part of a song?" 

Cheeks aflush, Patrick shakes his head in denial and Pete raises his eyebrows, almost pressing for details before the little voice in his head reminds him that he really shouldn't invade Patrick's privacy like that. 

It's bad enough that he eavesdrops on the kid when he's singing in the shower, for fuck's sake- Patrick would tell him the truth if Pete ordered him too, or even if he just asked with a little more authority, but the last thing Pete wants to do is order Patrick around. 

Ripping his eyes away from Patrick's calloused fingers coaxing something beautiful from the taunt strings, Pete turns his eyes to Mikey and sees that the lanky teen's eyes are fixed curiously on the guitar.

"Do you play too, Pete?" 

Laughing obnoxiously, Pete shakes his head and shoots Patrick an amused grin. The slave smiles back but doesn't pause in his finger picking. 

"I play guitar very, very badly. I'm better at bass- only slightly terrible!" 

Mikey's eyes go wide at this. 

"Really? That's so cool! Could you teach me?" 

Trying to keep nonchalant despite the grin sneaking it's way onto his face, Pete nods and loves the excited expression on Mikey's face. 

"Oh my god, really?!" 

"Yeah, sure. C'mon, let's get started..." 

Pete leads the younger teen to his bedroom, sitting down heavily on the bed and patting a spot next to him. 

"Here."

As the blond sits, grinning widely, Pete locates his bass in the pile of paper and unwashed clothing and drags it onto his lap. He quickly tunes it by ear, knowing he'll probably get it wrong but kind of wanting to impress Mikey a little. The bleach blond teen knows he's not much of a role model, not much of a good person, in his own opinion, but this kid seems to like him and Pete likes that. 

Placing the bass gently on Mikey's lap, Pete cautiously directs his hands into the correct position and motions for the boy to strum the note. 

"Here, this is how you play a C..."

~~~

It's silent as they wait for the older Iero's to come. Frank is trying not to freak out, running through the possibilities of what's going to happen and kind of wishing he believed in God so he'd have something to pray to. That'd probably be calming or something. 

The knock on the door doesn't even startle the dark haired teen and he meets eyes with Gerard before standing awkwardly. 

"Before they... I'm sorry for what's about to happen. Just remember that whatever they say to you, it's not true, kay? You're not dumb, you're not worthless. My parents don't see slaves as people but I want you to know that I do, and that Pete and Dallon do. We're on your side, always, and we are not like our parents." 

It's a bit of a long speech and Frank is almost gasping for breath at the end of it, panic setting in. This is not going to go well, is it? He's been so happy without his parent's arguments and sneers and sharp comments and- 

Gerard standing and pressing himself close to Frank in wordless reassurance surprises him. The dark haired slave looks about a hundred times calmer than the shorter teen feels and it's so reassuring.

C'mon, Frank, it's just your parents, he tells himself. You can do this. 

"Hi Mum, hi Dad." 

Frank's mother pushes past Frank without a greeting as he opens the door for her. His father nods silently at his son and follows his wife, eyes roaming around the apartment, silently critiquing the place. 

"The slave's been keeping your apartment clean, at least. Is he behaving, Frank?" 

Wincing silently at the way his mother talks about Gee like he's not even there, Frank nods. 

"Yes. How have you been?" 

Picking up on Frank's attempt to pull the conversation away from Gerard, his mother raises a cynical eyebrow and stalks over to the lounge, sitting down gracefully. 

"We've been fine. I still don't understand why you chose this boy, anyway. Mute! How useless. And those hideous scars!" 

~~~

The words don't hurt him, not like they hurt Frank.

Gerard's eyes are on his Master as Frank's mother spits the words out, watching how Frank's jaw clenches and his hands curl into fists. The shorter teen's dark eyes dart to Gerard, once, twice, three times before they stay focused on his, brimming with guilt and unhappiness and questions. Gerard can almost hear his confused thoughts. Why aren't you reacting? She's saying these things and they're not true, they're not true! Shrugging minutely to reassure his Master, Gerard tries to send a message back with his eyes- I'm used to it by now, this is nothing, honestly, it's a little bit of a shock to my system after being treated like an actual human being for the last few weeks, but she's not hitting me yet so it's okay, don't worry.

"Frank, are you listening to me?!" 

"Not really. Would you like something to drink?" 

Gerard can see how hard Frank is fighting to keep his voice steady and it hurts, just a little, to see the person who has been so careful and friendly with him so angry and upset. 

"I'll have a coffee." 

"What about you, Dad?" 

The dark haired slave watches on as Frank's father doesn't respond for a moment before looking up from his phone, eyes confused. He shakes his head dismissively once he figures out what's going on and turns his eyes back to his phone. Gerard can see how much it hurts Frank, how badly the shorter teen wants his father to say something. 

It's strange to him, this whole concept of a father. Gerard certainly can't ever remember having one- his memories are fuzzy, sure, but clear enough to know the only people looking after him were Mum and pink hair and scarred cheeks. Mikey talks about Ray a lot and Gerard wonders for a few moments whether his brother sees the smiling man as his father. 

"Milk and no sugar, if you please." 

The woman's voice jolts Gerard out of his thoughts and he watches as Frank moves to obey his mother. She quickly reprimands him, brow furrowed and expression irritated as she indicates Gerard with a careless wave of her hand. 

"No, don't you do it, what's the point of having the boy if you don't use him?" 

Moving before the words are fully out of the woman's mouth, Gerard makes his way quickly to the kitchen and begins fixing her a cup of coffee. 

"Sorry, Mother." 

Frank spits the apology. 

There's a cold silence as Gerard silently completes his task, eyes flashing between Frank and his mother, taking in each expression. Frank is shaking with barely controlled anger, eyes on the ground and lips pressed tightly closed. His mother is surveying the apartment, eagle eyes taking in every detail. Gerard averts his eyes hurriedly as she looks at him.

Cold, cold stare. Finished with the coffee, the black haired teen silently pads towards the lounge and passes the woman her drink. She doesn't even acknowledge his presence. 

(Gerard doesn't have a problem with that.) 

Returning to Frank's side, he watches on silently as a stilted conversation stutters along for a few minutes before succumbing to a cold silence. 

"Well, I think we're just about done here."

Rising suddenly, Frank's mother thrusts the half-empty cup at Gerard and strolls past him without a second glance. 

"Shane, we're leaving." 

The elder Iero's are almost out the door when Frank's mother carelessly throws what must be a bombshell over her shoulder- Gerard doesn't really know what's going on, no, when does he ever, but the expression on Frank's face is enough to make him nervous about what's to come. 

"There's going to be a Society party on in a few days. You are required to attend, Frank, along with Dallon and Pete. And, of course, bring your... consorts, I assume, seeing as how attached you are to the boy. You could have just told us about the gay thing, sweetie." 

Frank looks like a deer trapped in the lights of an oncoming bus. Watching as his mouth falls open, Gerard feels his own eyes widen slightly. At first he'd assumed Frank was gay, duh, why buy a male slave if you're not into fucking guys, but since Frank had left him alone he'd guessed that his attentions were firmly on the female gender. 

Well, never mind, it's not like it'll change anything. Gerard knows Frank isn't going to hurt him. He's sure of it. Why would he find Mikey, for goodness sakes, if only wanted to use Gerard?

"Your attendance is non-negotiable if you wish to continue living alone. I'll give you more details when they're confirmed." 

The door slams and Frank's apartment is silent for a moment before Frank utters two words- 

"Oh, shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Authors note: I realise now that this totally could become a Pete/Mikey- Pete teaching him bass and all that jazz- but I want this ship to stay Peterick. Pete and Mikey's relationship in Lonely, Lonely Little Life is one where Mikey kind of idolises Pete a little and Pete loves him like a brother. Nothing romantic, sorry to all of you Petekey shippers out there :P Also, while we're on apologies, I have two things to mention- firstly, sorry for not updating for so long! This story is not abandoned, don't worry, I've just been busy recently with Soundwave festival *we got to the barrier for Fall Out Boy!!!!* and schoolwork and my own head fucking up. Hopefully I'll be updating more frequently soon. Sorry for the lack of Brendon/Dallon is this chapter... their relationship is kind of a subplot now, it is still happening and I still will be writing about the two of them in this story, but I'm focusing more on Pete/Patrick and Frank/Gerard. Sorry and thanks for reading!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little late bc we had a long weekend and I put off writing this for ages...  
> in which everything is beautiful and {almost} nothing hurts!  
> comments make me go asdfghjkl, thank you all so much for your loveliness <3

The room is silent. Gerard can't think of a single word to write, no, can't think or a single thing to say. 

His words don't work properly normally- this awkward silence makes choking out the syllables even worse. Every time he opens his mouth to talk, that voice in his head screams shut up! shut up! and nothing he wants to say can be heard over that voice.

The expression Frank's face is killing him, killing him. Gerard hates the smoldering anger in those dark eyes and the way the shorter boy's fists are clenched, knuckles white. It doesn't scare him, not like it used to, though. Gerard knows who the anger is aimed at and that reassurance is enough to push down the cold fear threatening him. 

He just hates how much the words that are supposed to hurt him hurt Frank. They don't mean anything to him, the careless insults and the sneering comments, and he just wishes he could communicate that feeling. But words scrawled on paper don't express things as properly as Gerard would like- he's known that for a while now, hating how impersonal the messy scrawl is. 

Taking a deep breath, the black haired teen chokes out two stuttered words. 

"I-I'm sorry." 

The words are strangled, a harsh whisper, and Gerard curses his throat and his fear and that stupid, stupid voice in his head. But those two words seem to be enough to snap Frank out of his stony silence. 

"Oh, no, you didn't do anything wrong Gee, don't worry... I'm the one who should be apologizing for those pathetic human beings who claim to be my parents, honestly..." 

Frank continues to jabber on, words tripping over one another and blurring a little in Gerard's mind. The slave tunes him out, just a little bit, and focuses on his Ma- okay, on Frank's face. It's still too automatic, the title in his head, but Gerard is getting better at removing it. Frank quietens once he realizes Gerard isn't really listening, and sends the taller youth a wry smile. 

"Do you want me to go get Mikey, or do you want me to?" 

Nodding quickly, Gerard indicates that he'll go and leaves Frank with a small smile. 

~~~

The freeman waits until the boy has left the apartment before collapsing, completely drained. His father's stony silence and his mother's anger is exhausting. And then there's the thought of some ridiculous social gathering, that he's supposed to bring Gee to, where high society treat slaves like dirt. 

Frank's too tired to pace but he needs to move somehow, needs to fidget or something, because this is freaking him out. He needs his best friends, the dark haired youth thinks, and snatches his phone up from the bench and starts a text message explaining what's going to happen. 

He could just call in, get up and walk, but the thought of social interaction is exhausting right now and besides- last time he walked in on Brendon and Dallon having what could probably be classified as a moment, Frank thinks with a wry smile. That was more than a little awkward. 

~~~

Dallon's thinking about that 'moment' now, of course. Brendon is seeming to occupy his thoughts a lot these days. 

He's not entirely sure if that's a bad thing. 

The memory of the boy's sad expression and soft head resting on his shoulder is playing through the freeman's mind. 

They're watching some terrible old movie in silence, the only sounds being the played-out laugh track and unfunny dialogue. The shitty movie is somewhat saved, however, by the fact that Brendon has oh-so-casually spread himself out along the sofa and has his legs sprawled on Dallon's lap. 

Brendon's very touchy-feely for a slave, Dallon thinks, with a bit of a smirk that disappears as soon he thinks of how Gerard and Patrick flinch away from physical contact that's not from each other, Brendon or Mikey. The tall teen can't stifle the sigh that breaks away from him at that thought and Brendon looks up curiously, eyebrows raised. Shaking his head and making a noncommitted noise, Dallon smiles when Brendon shrugs (as much as one can shrug when they are lying on a couch) and relaxes again. 

"This movie is shit, honestly. Can we do something else?" 

As much as he hates to move from the position they've arranged themselves in, Dallon silently agrees, nods and switches off the television before shoving Brendon's legs off him. The shorter boy lets out a comical whine of protest and rolls off the couch, gazing up at Dallon with a faux-hurt expression. 

"Rude." 

"Whatever, midget. So, what do you want to do?" 

Getting up and stretching languidly, Dallon watches the other teen pretend to contemplate the question for a few moments before grinning. 

"No idea." 

"Well, that's awfully helpful, isn't it!" 

Grinning as he bounces up to stand, Brendon pokes out his tongue at the taller boy and elbows him playfully. 

"I know, right. Surely you have something you want to do?" 

Fighting the urge to say something along the lines of 'wrap you up in blankets and cuddle you until the world ends' (because that's a) cheesy as hell, b) more than a little weird and c) stupid because friends don't usually have a ridiculous desire to cuddle one another) 

{A/N: they totally do hey} 

Dallon shrugs. 

"C'mon, surely you have something." 

"Nah. I got nothing." 

"We could invite Spencer over and play some stuff?" 

That's not a bad idea, Dallon thinks, and he moves to respond as such before he remembers that Spencer's visiting a couple of friends in New York at the moment. 

"He's in NYC." 

"Well you come up with something then!" 

The two of them laugh and Dallon has to drag his eyes away from the grin on Brendon's face and the way his eyes light up when he makes someone laugh, however bad the joke was and the way- okay, no, this is not happening, Dallon tells himself sternly. You're not allowed to look at Bren that way. 

Not happening. 

"I think we've annoyed everyone else enough for today, hey. Um... this is a little random, and weird, but... could you teach me how to cook? Only the most edible thing I can make is pancakes and even they turn out weird..." 

Dallon trails off as Brendon's face splits into a wide grin. 

"Hell yeah! I will teach you, small child," 

Dallon can't help but snort with laughter at the use of the word 'small', "the art of cooking semi-edible food that is not for breakfast!" 

~~~

Pete and Mikey are still in Pete's room when the knock on the door comes so Patrick gently sets down his guitar and opens it cautiously. Gerard is standing outside, smiling slightly. "Hey Gee." 

Leading the black haired boy inside, Patrick beams at his friend before knocking on Pete's door hesitantly. 

"Uh, Gerard's here?"

There's no response and Gerard looks curiously at Patrick, inclining his head slightly and clearly asking for an explanation. 

"Pete's teaching Mikey bass. Pete!"

Voice a little louder now, there's still no response except for the loud and somewhat out of tune twanging of a bass. 

"Pete! Gerard's-" 

The bleached blond teen opens the door and catches Patrick mid-shout, grin on his face. 

"Okay, okay 'Trick, we're coming! Hey, Gerard, how were the evil parents?" 

Gerard shrugs and inclines his head back towards Frank's apartment, making a face. Pete seems to get it. 

"Oh, yeah. Were they at least civil towards you?" 

Cracking a smile, Gerard shakes his head quickly and mimes slapping someone before shaking his head again. Well-versed in Gerard's makeshift sign language, Patrick interprets quickly when Pete turns questioning eyes on him. 

"She didn't hit him this time, so all good." 

Pete lets out a relieved sigh and gently pushes Mikey forward and out of his room, beaming at the younger teen. 

"Come over again soon for another lesson. You're going really well, little dude!" 

Cheeks a little red, Mikey ducks his head and steps forward to hug Gerard tightly. 

"They didn't hurt you, did they?" 

The black haired teen shakes his head in response to his brother's question and gently releases him, sending Pete and Patrick a brilliant smile and mouthing 'thanks'. 

"It was nothing, Mikey's great company. Say hi to Frank for us, yeah?" 

Taking Pete's words as an excuse for a dismissal, Gerard nods and hugs Patrick quickly before leaving with Mikey. It's quiet for a few moments before Pete turns to the slightly shorter teen, a smile on his face. 

"You know Gee so well, it's ridiculous."

"I guess so." 

Neither teen seems to have anything more to say and it's quite a comfortable silence before Pete's phone interrupts. Somehow extracting the iPhone from his incredibly tight skinny jeans (Patrick looks down at his own comfortably baggy black jeans and inwardly sighs in relief), Pete's face falls as he reads the text. 

"What's wrong?" 

Pete doesn't respond for a moment so Patrick presses, concerned at the expression on the other teen's face. 

"Pete?" 

"Frank says that the parents are arranging a party or some shit." 

"And, uh, that's a bad thing?"

Patrick's a little confused. He didn't go to parties before... before everything happened, and his only experience of them as a slave is from the kitchens or from being paraded around like a new toy. It hadn't been the most fun for him, sure, but the freemen and women at the gatherings had seemed to be enjoying themselves. 

Pete sighs heavily. 

"Yeah, it's a bad thing. First of all, most of the people my parents know and like are absolute dickheads, so there's not exactly going to be the greatest company there. Second, most of these dickheads my parents associate with have children. Who, may I make clear, are also dickheads." 

Pausing for a moment to breathe, Pete shrugs and smiles minutely. 

"At least Gabe will be there. Well, he is a dickhead, but he's my dickhead. Anyway, the worst thing about this stupid ass party they're planning is the fact that they want me, Dallon and Frank to bring you guys." 

Ah. Well. Holy smokes. 

"Oh." 

"Yeah. Ugh. Let's not think about that now, hey. D'you want to go over to Brendon and Dallon's and beg dinner off them?" 

Hating the downcast expression on Pete's face, Patrick tries to grin enthusiastically. 

"That would be great!" 

~~~

Well, that just about ruined my great mood, Pete thinks angrily. Coffeeshopping, Patrick and teaching Mikey bass had made him so happy and- ugh. It was so nice, so different, to not live at home and to not be dragged out to those stupid parties every week. Apparently now he's still going to be dragged to them, with a poor Patrick in tow. 

Ugh. 

Shaking Pete out of his stormy mood, Dallon answers the door- covered in flour, for god knows what reason. 

"Frank and the bros are already here, coming to steal our food. Y'all are such scabs."

Poking out his tongue, the bleach blond teen grins and pushes past the taller teen to a scene of absolute chaos. 

Brendon is yelling orders at Frank, who is scowling and yelling obscenities right back as he stirs a pot of something creamy-looking. Mikey is laughing his ass off as he attempts to drag dough through a pasta machine, giggling helplessly as he looks to Dallon for help. And Gerard is in the corner of the kitchen, carefully drawing spiderweb designs on cookies they must have baked with purple icing. 

"Brendon's trying to teach me how to cook. It's going about as well as you would think. You and Patrick could just set the table or something, I reckon you'd cause even more damage than Frank is- no, Mikey, don't do that!" 

Letting out a wordless yowl of frustration, Dallon rolls his eyes dramatically at Pete and Patrick and races back to the kitchen to the hysterical teen. Sending an amused glance to Patrick, Pete is pleased to see the blond teen beaming. 

"They've gone mad, haven't they." 

"Oh, yes, they have, little one. Let’s join the madness!" 

Half an hour later, they're seated at the table and enjoying the food. Under Brendon's authority the group had somehow managed to create edible and delicious pasta, however unlikely it seemed. 

Brendon is bragging loudly, of course, about his culinary talents and 'authority over the masses'. Dallon is elbowing him and, with a mouth full of food, gesturing for him to 'eat the damn food' (as interpreted by a giggling Patrick). Pete can't stop grinning at Patrick's laugh- his bad mood has all but disappeared in the presence of his favourite idiots. Save the worrying for another time, he's decided. 

Frank has pretty much the same point of view- he's too busy praising Gerard's cookies and congratulating Mikey on managing to break Dallon's pasta machine to stress. Almost. It's niggling in the back of his mind, more now that his mother texted him with a confirmation of the details- the gathering's in only a few days. He knows it's not going to go well, that's for sure, but for now he should probably stop worrying at eat some pasta.

That's what Gerard whispers to him, anyway, and, well, when the mute speaks to you, you usually listen.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got bored in maths, started writing down some random notes for the next chapter and then got too excited about it to leave writing it for the weekend.  
> ((with cameos from Jenna Black, Debby Ryan, Ronnie Radke, Gabe Sapporta, William Beckett and a few other bandom people!))   
> Disclaimer: Ronnie Radke is an asshole. But not as much of an asshole as he is in this fic. Sorry, Ronnie, I needed a bad guy...

If anyone's ever looking for an excellent example of 'hell on earth', Pete can point them in the direction of the here and now. Surrounded by the dickhead teenagers of high society and staying close to Patrick (to protect him, obviously) Pete would rather be anywhere but here. He turns to the blond teen now and is alarmed by the terror in his eyes. 

"You okay, little one?" 

Shaking his head, Patrick motions towards the door nervously. 

"C-can I go see if Gerard or Brendon are here yet? I'm sorry, Pete, I can't deal with so many people, not when I know they're... I'm sorry..." 

Running his fingers through the blond boy's hair in an attempt to calm him, the bleach blond teen gives his friend a gentle push towards the escape route. "Sh, you don't have to be sorry. This place is the worst. 

"I'm waiting for a friend of mine, so you be safe, kay? If anyone so much as touches you without your permission, find me." 

Patrick smiles gratefully and slips away, leaving Pete surveying the room distastefully. His eyes land on an older, long haired teen with a ridiculous amount of intricate facial tattoos and a beautiful, curvy girl with long red hair and a brass septum piercing. 

"Why would you pick such a fucking useless slave, man. Deaf, what even?" 

Radke in the corner is slouching casually against a wall, talking to Debby Ryan, a pretty girl Pete has never really liked. She's gorgeous, Debby is, but a bit of a brat in his opinion. 

Selfish. 

None of her usual rude selfishness is showing now, however- as Pete watches on she growls wordlessly at Ronnie's words and steps protectively in front of who must be her slave, a slight blond girl. 

"Hot as all hell, though. Looks like a good fuck. Mind if I borrow her?" 

"You touch her, Radke, and I'll cut off your fucking balls." 

Backing away with a patronizing smirk gracing his features, Ronnie shrugs and disappears into the crowd of rowdy teenagers. Debby instantly turns to her slave and begins running delicate fingers through the girl's light hair (a gesture Pete recognizes as his own). Her eyes are darkly protective, glancing around defensively. She's changed, Pete thinks curiously to himself as he watches her, changed from the selfish girl he's known since they were kids. The slave is trembling slightly, eyes wide with terror, but as Pete watches she slowly calms and leans into Debby's hug. 

Approaching slowly, Pete gives the two a moment to break apart before greeting Debby with a smile. She glares back before relaxing somewhat when she recognizes him.

"Hello, Pete. Willing to help me strangle Radke with his own guts? I'm so sick of that dickhead, honestly." 

Rolling his eyes in agreeance, Pete smiles a greeting at the blond slave who ducks her head shyly. She doesn't shy away, however, doesn't shrink away in terror like she did when Radke approached her. Pete takes that as a good sign. 

"Sure, I'm always up for a bit of murder. How have you been, Debby? It's been a while..." 

The red headed girl shrugs and indicates her slave. 

"This is Jenna. I was all for the slave idea, a personal servant and all," Debby fluffs up her magnificent hair and smiles wryly, "so I didn't argue when the parents got me to choose someone. And then I met Jenna. She's deaf, the most beautiful human being in the world and never going to be hurt again. So if you're looking for a 'good fuck' like Radke," she spits the words with a surprising amount of venom, "piss off." 

Pete's about to respond defensively- who does Debby think he is, Bert McCracken?!- but the red head's face softens as Jenna elbows her softly and cocks her head to the side. Debby rests her head on the blonde's shoulder for a moment before smiling hesitantly at Pete.

"Jenna is the best judge of people I've ever met. I... I guess she has to be. She doesn't think you're going to do anything, so that's enough for me." 

Nodding silently in understanding, the teens stand in silence for a few moments before the bleach blond speaks up.

"Does she talk? Only Frank," 

Debby lets out a thoroughly unladylike snort at the mention of Frank's name- she's never been the dark haired teen's biggest fan-

"Bought a mostly-mute boy named Gerard." 

Jenna looks up sharply at this, expression curiously hopeful. She takes a small step forward towards Pete. 

"I'm not comfortable with speaking much, sir, but I can. The Gerard in question you're speaking of wouldn't be... somewhat scarred?" 

The blonde girl's voice is sweet and formal, a little too loud but pretty. Pete notices Debby signing something quickly with her hand, making a motion like a foot coming off of an acceleration pedal, and Jenna nods gratefully in response. Their exchange shocks Pete. Debby has come across as pretty uncaring to him in the past, honestly. For her to be signing something to her deaf friend is... a change. A good change. 

"Yeah, you could say that. Oh, and please call me Pete. 'Trick's only just starting to call me be my name, I don't need someone else calling me sir so quickly!" 

Jenna's face lights up in an instant. 

"Where would Gerard be?" 

Debby asks the question, brown eyes turned on Pete. 

"Uh, I'm not sure if he's here yet. Maybe check 'round the foyer?" 

Nodding her thanks, Debby grabs the blonde's hand and in a second they've disappeared into the crowd, smiles on both faces. Pete is so lost in his own thoughts that the pat on his head startles him. Glancing up crossly- because honestly, he's not that short, how patronizing can you be- Gabe is beaming next to him, a lanky brown haired boy in tow. 

"Peter! How excellent to see you, old chap! You know, it's been moons since I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance. Moons, I say!" 

Rolling his eyes affectionately, Pete fist bumps his stupidly tall friend. 

"Hello to you too, Gabriel." 

Dropping the terrible British accent, Gabe smirks and dramatically flourishes his tanned hands towards the lanky teen next to him. 

"Pete, I've decided to replace you as my best friend. Meet Bilvy. William, this is Pete." 

A feeling of absolute dread courses through Pete's veins at the rude way his friend pushes this Bilvy person forward and how he roughly introduces the pale teen. It's not like Gabe to be this... rough. Gabe's always been a bit of a dick, yeah, but Pete thought that he agreed with him about slaves being actual human beings who deserve respect. His fears quickly disappear as the boy bows dramatically and winks at Pete. 

"I've heard so much about you, sir. Master speaks of you so often." 

The amount of sarcasm William puts on the titles is ridiculous and Pete grins widely at the sassy slave. 

"Of course Gabe talks about me behind my back. I'd expect nothing less from you, dickhead. How's life?" 

~~~

There's too many people around him and he can't breathe. Patrick is pushing is way through the crowd, apologizing quietly to everyone he touches and trying very hard to stamp down on the panic gripping him. He just needs to get out and find Brendon or Gerard, needs to get out, needs to get out... 

"Patrick!" 

Brendon's yell of greeting is the biggest relief and the blond teen hurries towards his friend's voice. Brendon is perched precariously on the rail of an ornate staircase but jumps down and bounds forward to grab Patrick's wrist, dragging him back to a quieter corner from which they can view the crowded room quite nicely. 

"You okay, 'Trick?" 

Knowing his friend is concerned, Patrick nods silently before letting himself slowly relax. He scans the room until he finds Pete and is happy to see him chatting to who must be 'Gabe' and a pretty long haired slave.

"Where's Dallon?" 

Brendon shrugs, grinning. 

"I don't even know. Left him talking to the chick who owns Jeremy, this guy I used to room with at my fourth or fifth Master's place. I don't think I'm supposed to be roaming around on my own but Jeremy's pretty-redheaded-owner and him were having some deeply philosophical conversation and I got bored. Where's Pete?" 

"With his friend. There's too many people, I couldn't deal with so many and so loud and..." 

Trailing off, the blond boy is grateful for Brendon's sympathetic hug and smile. 

"I get you, dude. Let's just chill here for a while... hey, Gee's over there!" 

Following Brendon's gaze, Patrick grins when he sees Gerard embracing a blonde girl. 

~~~

This isn't as good as getting Mikey back, but it's pretty damn close. 

"Wait, what's going on, Gee? You know this girl?" 

"No, he's just hugging her for no reason. Of course your boy knows Jenna, dumbass." 

Gerard ignores Frank and the red head's arguing as he buries his face in Jenna's shoulder. The two of them were owned by the same abusive guy a year or so ago. Neither speaking much, they had become very close. Gerard's not going to lie- he thought they were never going to see each other again when their Master got sick of her 'ignoring' his commands (Jenna's amazing at lipreading but needs to actually be seeing someone's lips, duh, how stupid can people be) and sold her. A wonderful coincidence, this is. 

Releasing the blonde, Gerard cocks his head to the side and silently motions towards the red head. Jenna smiles back, bright eyes riveted on his. He can't help the sigh of relief that escapes his lips now. Jenna's safe. She's happy. 

"Nice to meet you, Gerard, I'm Debby. Jenna told me about you!" 

The red head is addressing him and Gerard turns to her, ducking his head shyly in acknowledgement and raising his eyebrows curiously.

"She's safe with me. How's life with Frank?" 

Debby spits his owner's name and Gerard frowns. That's not okay. 

Frank's nice. 

"I didn't give him the fucking scars, if that's what you're thinking, Ryan." 

Shrugging slightly and relenting somewhat, Debby stares hard at the shorter teen. 

"Good to hear that, Iero. I'm gonna go find Tyler, Jen, stay with Gerard." 

As Debby strolls away, Gerard and Jenna continue their silent conversation before an indignant yell and a noise of someone being... slapped? makes them stop and frantically seek out the noise. Gerard's heart sinks when he sees Brendon holding his cheek across the room and staring up at a tattooed teen defensively. 

~~~

Patrick watches the exchange of his friend and the other teen with wide eyes. The long haired youth had been strolling past when he'd obviously noticed Brendon's collar and ordered the teen to come with him. Unsure of the guy's intentions, Brendon had spat a refusal back. The other teen had then slapped him roughly across the face, eyes alight with fury. 

It's all the blond teen can do now to resist the urge to abandon his friend and run for his life- this guy is terrifying him, with a malicious leer on his face and hands curled into fists.

"What the fuck, man. How hard is it to obey orders, you stupid piece of shit?!" 

Patrick wills Brendon to back down, wills him to back away or apologise or something so this asshole won't hit him again, but no such luck. His friend is intent on standing his ground. 

"You don't own me." 

"You're all the luckier for that, trust me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something of a cliffy, ehehe!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long to resolve the sort-of cliffy, I'm *overwhelmed* with schoolwork at the moment... ugh. 
> 
> ((I'm so sorry Ronnie Radke ily I just needed a villain and you have like five songs about being an asshole so omfg I'm sorry))
> 
> ((( ~~~ indicates a change in perspective, in case anyone was unclear about that. In some scenes no time passes between perspectives and the scene does not change, but the person being focused on changes. )))

Defiant. 

Brendon knows he should back down, do what he has been trained to do and back down and apologise and obey this asshole. But when has he ever done what he should do? The brave (stupidly stubborn) teen will always rebel and has the scars to prove it. 

"You don't own me." 

"You're all the luckier for that, trust me." 

It's hard for him to conceal the way he automatically flinches back at the passive-aggressive words. The guy must notice his... surprise? No, Brendon's not in the least bit surprised that this jerk likes to make casual threats. 

Anyway, the guy must notice his reaction because a smirk finds its way onto his tanned face. Brendon watches as the guy's eyes light up and feels his own narrow. This dickhead doesn't scare him. No way. 

"I've already asked nicely. Follow me, you worthless piece of shit." 

"No. Back off." 

The freeman's fist comes flying into Brendon's stomach before he can register that the smirking youth has moved and he doubles over, winded.

"Don't even think about giving orders to me." 

"P-please, sir, l-leave him a-a-alone." 

It's Patrick who speaks up and Brendon's eyes widen in panic as he tries to gasp enough air to tell Patrick to shut up, shut up and get away before this dickhead hurts the terrified blond teen too. The freeman's smirk becomes a predator's grin as he turns his attention away from the boy he's just hit and to the trembling youth. 

"Of course. You're prettier anyway, little one-" 

"You do not get to say that nickname. There is no way in hell that you have any right to say that name. Go away, Radke." 

Bleach blond has appeared out of apparently nowhere, flanked by a very tall, very tan freeman and a brown haired slave. Brendon straightens himself up, raising his chin in defiance as he slowly inches his way over to where Pete is gently pushing Patrick behind him. 

"Wentz. Sapporta. Can't say it's nice to see either of you." 

The asshole's casual arrogance is slowly slipping away as he faces off against the other teens, Brendon observes, but that annoyingly patronizing smirk is still on his stupid face. 

"Likewise. Look, man, piss off. Don't you have drugs to do somewhere?" 

Raising an eyebrow, Radke winces sarcastically before slipping away into the crowd of people who are watching on with various amounts of interest. 

"He was trying to make a move on Debby Ryan's deaf girl earlier. Stupid fucker. I pity whoever belongs to him." 

Pete's words are casual but Brendon can see the worry in his eyes.

"You okay, 'Trick? Brendon?" "Fine. Bit winded." 

Patrick stays silent and Brendon turns worrying eyes on him. His friend doesn't look happy. 

~~~

Pete's brow crinkles at the slave's silence so he forces a smile. 

"You're pretty brave, standing up to Ronnie like that. A little silly, little one, but brave, yeah?" 

Nodding silently, the blond teen presses himself into Pete's side, closing his eyes. It surprises the older teen- and makes him smile a little, despite the shitty reason physically close to him. 

"It's okay, little one. Let's go outside, yeah? Take a break? Brendon, are you cool with staying with Gabe?"

Praying that the chestnut haired teen doesn't argue, Pete is relieved when Brendon nods and grins. The bleach blond teen sends Gabe a grateful look as he leaves the trio, guiding Patrick through the crowd of people and out the double doors of the room. It's a minute's walk through spacious corridors to arrive outside- Pete doesn't stop whispering reassurances the entire time. The trembling has stopped but Pete can tell the diminutive teen is still freaking out. 

They make it to the gardens outside and Pete finds a seat tucked behind a fountain and some beautiful rose bushes. He points out the roses to Patrick, beaming when the boy nods and manages a small smile of his own.

"You okay, little one?" 

Shaking his head, the blond teen is quiet for a few moments before he meets Pete's eyes sadly. 

"Not everyone is going to be like you and Frank and Dallon. I know that, I know, I've been... owned," he chokes out the word like it's stuck in his throat and Pete sympathizes- it's hard enough for him to acknowledge the fact that this boy has been owned by people, is owned by Pete. He can't even begin to imagine how much it hurts Patrick to acknowledge that he is viewed as a piece of property. 

"By people not like you and Frank and Dallon. I should remember them. I should remember what I am. I should remember the fact that I'll always be this, no matter how much I feel like more than a worthless item that is only bought to be used and abused and sold again so the process is repeated again and again and again and-" 

"Sh, 'Trick." 

He hates to cut off Patrick when he's speaking, it makes Pete uncomfortable to abuse the way that Patrick will follow his orders, but he can't deal with Patrick voicing things like this. The blond boy is clearly getting more and more worked up but he silences at Pete's words, gasping quietly for breath and trembling as he leans closer to Pete. 

"Sh. You're so much more than a piece of property, little one. You are a person and you deserve to be treated as a person. It's the dickheads like Radke and your past owners that are worthless, trust me." 

It breaks Pete's heart a little to see Patrick shake his head, desperately trying to communicate how he feels. 

"I shouldn't forget what I am. What I'll always be." 

"No, no, no, 'Trick! Don't say that." 

Patrick pulls away from the other teen at those words. His expression darkens and he stands abruptly, taking a step backwards, somewhat confusing Pete. The bleach blond teen opens his mouth to say something when Patrick cuts him off angrily. 

"You own me. No matter how... you still own me, no matter how much you pretend to care and comfort and cry along with me." 

His words are like a knife to the gut for Pete and he winces at the anger in Patrick's voice. 

"No, little one..." 

"Don't call me that." 

It's silent for a moment. The only sound is of their breathing, breaths taken in and out, in and out, Patrick gasping and Pete wishing he could just stop breathing. 

Patrick's right. He's no better than Radke, no better than any of them. He's still a cage- a comfortable, gilded cage, but still a cage. He's- Patrick almost seems to collapse, like a puppet master has cut his strings. The blond boy sits back down heavily and leans into Pete, resting his head on the freeman's shoulder and closing his eyes as a lone tear slips out. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Don't be sorry. I'm the one who should be sorry. I'm sorry all of this happened to you, I'm sorry you have to live like this. I'm sorry you have to put up with me being ignorant and over-protective and me." 

Opening baby blues, the blond boy's mouth quirks into something of a smile. 

"Don't be sorry for you." 

They're quiet for what seems like an age, Patrick's head on Pete's shoulder and the two of them breathing in and out, in and out. 

Patrick stands and stretches. 

"We should go back." 

"Yeah. We've left them alone for long enough- Brendon and Gabe are probably forming an alliance now and getting together battle plans to destroy Radke." 

"Is that such a bad thing?" 

The two teens laugh together, sound echoing through the quiet corridors as they make their way back to the gathering. 

"We'll only stay for a little longer, little o- wait, you didn't want me calling you that, sorry..." 

Pete trails off and Patrick smiles quietly.

"It's okay. I kinda like it when it's coming from you and not slave bashers." 

~~~

"What the fuck happened?! Bren, are you okay?" 

It takes a while for Dallon to push through the crowd, but eventually he locates Brendon. The shorter teen spins around when he hears his name, face splitting into a grin when he sees his friend.

"Dallon!" 

"Brendon, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I was a bit winded but I'm all good now." 

Raising eyebrows skeptically, Dallon gently takes a protesting Brendon by the shoulders and spins him around, checking him over for damage. The red mark on his cheek makes the taller teen scowl but apart from that, Brendon seems okay. Thank goodness. 

"I'm okay, Dallon. Don't worry. Have you met Bilvy yet?" 

Wanting to press the subject further (Brendon's just been beaten up by some dickhead, for fuck's sake!) but realising how much Brendon really doesn't want to talk about it, Dallon goes along with the subject change and beams at Gabe's slave, a long haired teen almost as tall as Dallon himself. 

"Where are Pete and Patrick?" 

"You just missed them, they went outside to calm 'Trick down, don't worry." 

The conversation flows easily, Dallon and Gabe being close enough friends through Pete and William being similar to Brendon in personality- outgoing, social and somewhat snarky. 

~~~

Gerard's craning his neck to try and see what the hell is going on across the room when he feels Jenna stiffen next to him. He tears his gaze away from Brendon and the other guy long enough to cock an eyebrow and tilt his head slightly to the side, asking a question of the obviously uncomfortable blonde girl. Jenna simply shakes her head and takes a small step closer to him.

What the hell is going on? 

Frank's expression next to them is stormy. Gerard's worried. In unspoken agreement Frank meets his eyes and they begin to make their way towards whatever is happening. Jenna hangs back a little, looking terrified, but Gerard's hand in hers must be enough to calm her because she follows a furious Frank willingly. They arrive to the scene in time to see Pete and Patrick quickly walking away. Brendon's eyes light up at the sight of Frank and Gerard and he quickly hugs Gerard. 

"I'm alright. Don't worry." 

"What the hell happened?!" 

Frank's furious question is directed at the tall darker guy.

"Ronnie Radke." 

~~~

Frank fumes silently as Brendon and a tall darker guy explain the situation. He's going to kill Ronnie. He really is. If Frank himself has changed for the better after looking after Gee, then Radke has done the opposite. Radke was a dickhead before, sure, but having power over another human being has just gone to his head and- 

Gerard is tapping Frank's shoulder hesitantly, eyebrows raised as a question. 

"Yeah, Gee?" 

Inclining his head back towards the crowd as if asking permission to go, Gerard's hand is still in that of the blonde. She looks somewhat terrified and Frank feels bad for dragging her and Gee into this. 

"Go find Debby, yeah? Stay safe, Gee."

Nodding soberly, the black haired boy disappears into the crowd with Jenna. Frank has to fight back against the pang of worry rising in his chest, has to fight against following Gee. They'll be fine. He's still allowed to worry, though. 

~~~

They get away from the gathering as soon as socially acceptable. It's a relief for all of them to be on their way home. It's not a long walk, not really. 

Brendon's chatter doesn't falter the entire way, which brings a somewhat incredulous smile to Dallon's face. He's resilient, Brendon is. Right back on his feet. Dallon's still fuming, though. It scares Brendon a little to see him so angry- the taller youth is usually so happy-go-lucky and quick to let things go. It's kind of a nice feeling, though, Brendon thinks with a grin, to have someone so furiously protective of him. 

Gerard's beaming, and therefore Frank is too. Frank and Debby have promised that they'll arrange something so Jenna and Gerard can spend time together. Gerard desperately wants Mikey to meet the quiet blonde girl he's missed so much. 

Pete was meaning to give Patrick space after the younger teen's breakdown earlier in the day, but if anything it has given Patrick more confidence to be near Pete. And who is he to push away 'Trick? The bleach blond teen hypothesizes that Patrick's now, like, 100% sure he's not going to be hit after he yelled at his owner, and therefore has gained confidence. It's not like Pete's arguing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send me bandom prompts through the comments or at http://ohmsomegalomaniac.tumblr.com/ please please please I'll write stuff for this 'verse if you want or just random? IDEK prompts would be hella nice.  
> PSA: don't spam Ray, Mikey, Gerard, Frank or anyone else involved with MCR about the band tomorrow. I know it's a sad day for us all but they're all so much happier doing their epic solo projects. Just respect that and keep your distance, please.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and how it's been so long! I'm so sorry that I've been claiming that 'I'll update every weekend' and then not. I've been massively stressed at the moment and schoolwork is just driving me crazy, but holidays start in a week so hopefully I'll be getting out chapters, like, every few days? IDK. 
> 
> So sorry that this is so short after such a long wait, but so many people have said that they want to see more of Mikey's life with Ray and Christina, so...

"Morning, sweetie! Hard day today, yeah?" 

The messy pile of blankets in front of the woman doesn't move. 

"Mike. Mikes. Michael!" 

Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, Christine leans over the bed and pokes the figure hidden under the mass of bedding. With a tired moan, the blond boy sticks his head out from under the blankets and blinks up at his guardian sleepily. 

"Wha'?" 

“We’re leaving in, what, half an hour and you’re still not out of bed! C’mon, kid!”

He's changed so much in the space of a year, Christine thinks affectionately as the boy protests loudly when she drags his blankets off of him. Changed so much from the terrified, mute child with the haunted eyes who flinched every time Ray moved too quickly and whenever Christine laughed too loudly. 

She doesn’t miss that boy. Not at all. 

“C’mon, get up. It’s quarter to nine and the market opened fifteen minutes ago! Ray’s made bacon and eggs, if you could drag yourself out of bed to eat it, we’d love that.” 

Beaming as he rubs at his eyes drowsily, Mikey waves a dismissive hand at Christina. 

“Give me, like, ten minutes.”

“Okay, sweetie.”

Christina bustles out of the room to give Mikey the privacy to change, smiling slightly to herself as she does, trying to ignore the sick feeling welling up in her stomach. How is Mikey so calm, so relaxed about the prospect of returning to the place that regularly haunts his nightmares? 

(More than a few times in the first weeks of Mikey living with her and Ray, she would get up in the middle of the night for whatever reason to see the diminutive boy shaking in his sleep, lips bleeding from him biting back the words.)

Mikey had maintained that the nightmares had stopped, but Christina knows him too well. 

“Chrissy, is he up yet? I know we didn’t want to rush him, but it’ll get busy soon and I don’t think I can do this if we have to push through a crowd of… people like them.”

Stepping towards her husband and planting a quick kiss on his cheek, Christina wraps her arms around Ray’s waist and smiles comfortingly up at him. 

“He’s up. We can do this, yeah? Stay strong for him?”

“Yes. Yes. We can do this.”

Muttering the makeshift motto to himself quietly, Ray beams at his wife. 

“We can do this.”

~~~

He wasn’t going to be able to handle this. Christina knew it, Ray knew it, but worst of all, Mikey knew it. He tries to control the way his hands are shaking as they step through the gates, but his guardians pick up on it in that way they do, the way they’ve learned to read him when his words don’t come so easily. 

Mikey has to be able to handle it. He needs to find him, and he can’t do that if he can’t walk around in this living hell with a semblance of calm.

Christina is shaking just as bad as him, on the verge of tears. She keeps shooting anxious looks at the other visitors of the slave market, keeping Mikey close to her and fidgeting with the collar around the blond boy’s neck. 

“Do you recognize any of the stalls, sweetie? Any of the traders?”

Her voice is trembling. 

“No. I don’t.”

“Okay.”

It’s by anonymous, silent decision that they turn and retreat. 

They’ll look another day. Come again, when the crowds aren’t so huge and the leering faces of the traders don’t mean as much. 

They'll find him, one day.


	21. Chapter 21

Fine. 

Brendon is fine, and he really wishes Dallon would stop hovering and stop looking at him like that and stop being so sympathetic and stop trying to bring it up because he is fine. 

Fine. 

Dallon getting angry and fighting for him was nice- better than nice. But Sympathetic and Guilty Even Though Nothing Is His Fault Dallon is really starting to get on Brendon's nerves. 

They've been home for less than half an hour, bidding the others good bye and Dallon ordering takeaway pizza over the phone while Brendon fiddles with his leather collar, trying to get it off. He sees the taller youth shooting him a somewhat guilty look and rolls his eyes. He's fine. 

"Yeah, two and a garlic bread. Two sodas, too, thanks man." 

The teen is starting to get more and more frustrated with the collar, and Dallon's unhappy expression only fueling his irritation. But he's fine. Totally fine. Just a little pissed. Okay, furious. What the fuck is with these stupid collars? 

"Yeah, no pepperoni. It'll be here in ten? Thanks. Bye."

Hanging up the phone and placing it gently down on the bench, Dallon is silent for a moment before meeting the other teen's eyes.

"You need a hand?" 

Pride and stubbornness and the need to get the stupid collar off fight and before he can register what he's doing, Brendon has taken a step backwards and crossed his arms over his chest. 

"No. I'm fine." 

Shrugging, Dallon turns around and busies himself with his phone, but not before Brendon can catch the hurt in his eyes- and the guilty pity. Brendon struggles for  
about another minute before sighing loudly and wordlessly moving to stand in front of Dallon, who quickly unbuckles the collar and places it down on the bench. 

"Are you-" 

Okay, Brendon has had enough. 

"I'm fine, okay? You can stop looking at me like that!" 

"Like what?" 

Dallon's acting all innocent and worried and fucking nervously curious and it's pissing Brendon off because that's exactly what Dallon is. 

Perfect. 

Stupidly perfect with those stupid caring brown eyes and dumbass laugh and dorky jokes but stupid mindset that he can fume and fight and be furious for Brendon but when they're alone, he must give Brendon 'space' because he's obviously not okay, no matter how many fucking times Brendon says that he's fine, he's still fragile. 

Wait. What. Dallon has said something while Brendon's been monologuing to himself. 

Shit.

"What?" 

"I said that I'm sorry, I'll shut up about it, but man, I just worry, yeah? I get that you're fine." 

Yeah, he's perfect. Brendon can feel his anger dissipating and he slumps to sit, leaning against the other teen's legs. Dallon lets out a surprised noise but beams down at Brendon, patting his head playfully.

~~~

"So, pizza should be here in a bit. You want to do something?" 

Please don't want to do anything, Dallon silently begs. This is nice. Brendon leaning against him is nice. They could stay like that for a while. That'd be real cool. 

"Let's watch something."

Or, they could, like, not. Whatever Brendon wants.

"Sure. Cool. You find something, yeah? Be back in a sec."

It physically hurts to drag himself away from the other teen, but Dallon manages to and beams quickly before all but running to the bathroom to regulate his breathing for a moment and berate himself. Not happening, the freeman tells himself sternly. Nope. Just because Brendon has no concept of personal space doesn't mean you can take advantage of it and enjoy it. Definitely not. 

Sighing silently, Dallon hears the doorbell and races to answer it, hurriedly giving the money to the brown haired guy with a sweet lip ring, rough stubble and a wicked grin. He's cute- very cute in a punkish, cocky sort of way- but totally not Dallon's type. His type is more chocolate brown eyes and chestnut hair and stupid laughter and- okay, shut up, brain.

"Thanks, dude." 

The pizza guy nods wordlessly and smirks as he peers around the door, nosily staring into the apartment at Brendon- who is shouting at the TV, trying to get it to work. Idiot, Dallon thinks fondly as he smiles to himself.

"Night in with the boyfriend?" 

Shaking his head, Dallon forces a laugh and subtly begins to close the door in the guy's face. 

"Nah. Thank you, 'night, man." 

The pizza guy shrugs and extends a hand. The taller youth illogically thinks the pizza guy is going in for a handshake before he notices the slip of paper in the other youth's calloused hand. 

Oh. 

"Cody. Call me?" 

"Uh, what, um, sorry..." 

Trailing off, Dallon watches as the Cody guy's smirk simply gets bigger at the rejection. 

"Ah. Don't swing that way?" 

Dallon's face must be all the other teen needs to answer that question because Cody snickers and turns to go, throwing a few words over his shoulder as he leaves.

"Not boyfriend, but you can always dream, right? Later." 

They're sitting on the couch a few minutes later, Brendon's head in Dallon's lap, attention of the smaller teen fixed on the television. Dallon's attention? Not so much on the Disney movie Brendon's chosen. But that's to be expected. 

~~~

"How'd it go?" 

Frank raises a single eyebrow at Mikey's statement and the blond youth hides a laugh behind a pale hand.

"About as well as expected?" 

Mikey's second question is answered by Gerard attaching himself to the younger teen, hugging his brother tightly with a grin on his face. The younger Way laughs at his brother and hugs back. Watching the two of them with a smile, Frank is surprised when Gerard motions for him to do something. 

"What?" 

The black haired mouths 'Jenna' and Frank nods, understanding.

"Gee's told you about Jenna, yeah? Well, she was there and I've known her owner since I was a kid. Debby and I are going to arrange something for you guys all to meet up... hopefully we'll be able to get along for that long." 

Mikey beams at the news, gently detaching Gerard from him and holding the quiet teen by his shoulders. 

"That's so cool, Gee! Did you two, um..." 

"Talk? They didn't talk, duh, just did that freaky silent communication thing not too different from what you two have got going on." 

Poking his tongue out at Frank's words, Gerard ducks his head shyly and pulls away from Mikey. He snags his sketchbook from where it's sitting on the kitchen bench and sits down on a beanbag, curling around himself in that way he does when he's drawing and doesn't want to be disturbed. Frank shrugs at Mikey, mouthing 'what can you do?' before strolling to the fridge, opening it and wincing at its bareness. 

"Why do we never have anything to eat?" 

"Because you're too lazy to go and buy food. We've got plenty of cereal and stuff but you really do need to go out and buy something." 

Making a face at Mikey, Frank reaches for his phone and smirks to himself when he hears the other teen's giggle. He dials the number for pizza. He's had enough social  
interaction for a day, for the next week, thanks. 

"Hello, Duality Pizza? Three pizzas and a garlic bread, thanks. And some drinks. Yeah, pepperoni. The fuck's with your name, anyway? None of my business? That's no way to talk to a customer- okay, sorry. Yeah, cool." 

~~~

"Is that her?" 

Gerard nods minutely in response to Mikey's question, not looking up from the picture he's frantically sketching. He wants something to give to Jenna when he sees her again- or if he doesn't get to see her, if Frank or the redhead doesn't want them to see each other, than at least he'll have a recent picture of her to sear into his memory. Jenna's face is in his mind's eye now, those bright blue eyes staring back at him. 

~~~

"Okay, thanks." 

Frank hangs up and places his phone down, surveying the room quickly. Mikey's disappeared somewhere- to the bedroom, most likely. Gerard's with his sketchbook. Frank pads over to the other teen and raises his eyebrows in an ask for permission when the black haired teen glances up at him. Smiling at Gerard's nod, Frank looks over his shoulder to see the teen drawing Jenna. 

Oh, duh. 

A thought occurs to Frank and he tries to push it away, knowing it's none of his business. But he's curious. He combs through his memories, picturing Gerard's hand in that of the slight blonde girl, her ecstatic reaction to him, his wide smile when he saw her face. 

"Are you and Jenna..." 

Gerard looks up with a hint of alarm in his expression and Frank pauses, choosing his words carefully. 

"Romantically involved?" 

The relief Frank feels when the other teen shakes his head with a silent giggle confuses Frank and he smiles awkwardly at the black haired boy. Gerard smiles back and pushes a quickly scrawled note towards the other teen. 

'Her and the redhead.' 

The doorbell rings before Frank can respond and he makes an apologetic face to Gee before going to answer it. A somewhat exasperated youth with brown hair and a lip ring- oh, Frank's jealous, damn that looks good- is standing outside with the boxes. 

"You couldn't have ordered this ten minutes earlier? I was literally right here for the cutie next door." 

Snickering, Frank pays the guy quickly and takes the food. 

"Cutie next door, huh. Did you try asking him out? You're not really his type, but you're not half bad either." 

Raising an eyebrow, Pizza Guy smirks. 

"Not half bad? I'll take that as a compliment. Yes, I tried. But I think he's got his type right there already." 

"What-" 

"Later!" 

The Pizza Guy is gone before Frank can clarify what the actual fuck he's talking about. Shrugging to himself and silently dismissing the guy from his thoughts, Frank shuts the door. 

~~~

"'Trick, you want food?" 

Patrick is sitting on Pete's bed with the freeman's bass, picking out a melody.

"Yes, please!" 

They've been home an hour or so- Patrick has spent the better time of that hour in Pete's room, switching between bass and his acoustic. A half-formed song has been bouncing around in his head since the party and the blond is desperate to commit it to memory. 

He'd ask Pete for some writing paper, but... the memory of his breakdown in the garden is still far too fresh in Patrick's mind for him to risk anything. What was he thinking? Pete's good. Pete is better than good, Pete is the best Master he's ever had and more than that, he's Patrick's friend. Why did Patrick have to go off at him and ruin it? The blond teen is sure Pete's okay with it, sure Pete even encourages Patrick to share his feelings, but it just feels wrong. 

Patrick pauses in his playing for a moment to shudder silently and recoil a little at what the consequences of his rant would've been at any other the other places he's been owned. He doesn't even want to think about that. He's become so comfortable, so confidant here, but he can't forget. No matter what Pete says, he's worthless and disposable and-

"Patrick? You okay? Only I've been knocking for ages and you weren't responding..."

The freeman is hovering anxiously in the doorway. 

"Yeah, I'm fine." 

Pete nods and grins at the other teen, who smiles back. We're fine, Patrick tells himself. 

"I ordered pizza. The guy on the phone sounded kinda pissed, but he'll be here in a few minutes!" 

The other teen's brightness sounds somewhat faked, however, and looking closer, Patrick sees the lines of worry around Pete's eyes. That's my fault, the blond teen thinks, biting his lip. He racks his brain for a few moments to think of what to do- he doesn't want this to turn into another one of those nights, when Pete's surly or guilty or irritable. 

"Can I play you something quickly?" 

Pete's face lights up at Patrick's words and the blond boy feels himself smile. That was definitely the right thing to say. 

"That'd be great!" 

Taking a quick breath in, Patrick starts the little melody he's worked up. Unknowingly humming under his breath as he picks out the notes of the riff, Patrick finishes and looks up to see Pete's expression curious. 

"Hey, that's so cool! Can you teach me how to play it?"

Nodding, Patrick quickly passes the bass over to the bleach blond and directs him on playing the little riff. 

"You're so good, little one, oh my god!" 

Ducking his head shyly, the blond teen blushes at Pete's compliment and smiles. Once the other teen has mastered the riff, Patrick leaves him to it and bends to pick up the acoustic lying abandoned against the bed. What looks like a napkin catches the blond's eye and he picks it up, reading the words quickly. 

'Tonight is "it can't get much worse," vs "no one should ever feel like-" I'm two quarters of a heart down and I don't want to forget how your voice sounds. These words are all I have so I'll write them, they're all I've got to get by.' 

"What are you doing- oh." 

Pete's face becomes expressionless as he sees what Patrick is reading and the blond teen feels himself go cold. He's accidentally crossed a line or something here. Patrick's about to open his mouth to stutter apologies when Pete's face relaxes and the bleach blond teen grins. 

"I guess you can read that if you want. A fair trade, music for words." 

Saved from responding by the doorbell, Patrick moves to get it before Pete stops him.

"I got it." 

A punkish, furious-looking teen is standing at the door as Pete opens it and the blond teen takes a hesitant step back from where he's gotten up to help carry whatever.

The pizza guy does not look happy.

The room is silent for a moment before Patrick speaks up. Maybe Pete will yell at him for this, maybe he's wrecking whatever they've just built, but this opportunity  
to possibly make Pete smile is too good to pass up. 

"Another one of your exes?" 

The brown haired pizza guy looks incredibly confused as Pete bursts into semi-hysterical laughter, shooting Patrick a wondrous glance before he's laughing too hard to  
respond to anything. 

"This fucking apartment building, I swear to god. Third time here tonight! Just give me the fucking money, or I'm going to shoot something..." 

A still-giggling Pete thrusts a handful of money towards the exasperated teen and takes the pizza from him before shutting the door in his face. 

He likes making Pete laugh, Patrick thinks to himself as he takes the food before Pete can drop it. It's a good feeling, getting Pete's ridiculous donkey-bray of laughter. 

"You- 'Trick, what the actual hell, his fucking face-"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLIDAYS FUCK YEAH
> 
> I'm going to be away for the next week or so on holiday and we'll be driving a lot so hopefully when I get back I'll have a couple of chapters for you guys?
> 
> ((I've been obsessing over Set It Off at the moment and since I've used practically every other character in bandom in this story, I dragged Cody Carson into this...))


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry only a little chapter bc I'm trash :c very important message at end notes, please please please read it!!!!!

Early. 

They fell asleep on the couch together, Brendon's head in Dallon's lap, both teens snoring until the loud phone alarm wakes them. 

"Wha? Dallon?" 

The taller teen mumbles sleepily in response to the other's question, eyes tightly shut against the sunlight that is streaming through the windows. 

"Dallon! Alarm!" 

"What- oh." 

Alarmed for a few moments before he gets his bearings, Dallon yawns and blinks his eyes open, staring down at Brendon sleepily. He's a little fuzzy for a bit, confused and comfortable and happy- and then the alarm blares through his tiredness and he forces himself to gently push Brendon away. 

"Morning, Bren... I think we have work today." 

"Yes!" 

Bouncing up and extending a hand for the other teen, Brendon's face is alight in a grin. Dallon feels himself smile as he takes the offered hand and stands a little stiffly, stretching. Ouch. 

"Why did we fall asleep on the couch? For, like, the third time?"

Beaming, Brendon hurries to the bathroom and shouts an answer over his shoulder, "how should I know?" He closes the door, leaving Dallon looking around blearily and  
wishing that they'd slept through the stupid alarm. 

Ugh. 

At least work at Ryan's is fun. Dallon hasn't known Ryan for very long- Spencer and the poetic dork have been friends since they were kids and after Spencer introduced him and Dallon, they hit it off. Ryan's interesting, that's for sure. Brendon seems to have taken a liking to him and Jon, Dallon thinks with a smile. Not everyone is like Radke- it'll do Brendon good to go somewhere where people ignore the leather collar that has to restrict Brendon's breathing every time he leaves the apartment. If none of the customers are dickheads, that is... Dallon worries for a moment before shaking his head and berating himself silently. Brendon will be fine. 

~~~

By the time they've both showered and dressed, the pair are already running late (it's totally Dallon's fault). Ryan welcomes them with a smile, however, and pushes Brendon behind the counter and Dallon into the storeroom as soon as they arrive. 

A record store. 

A record store!

Brendon's still reeling at how awesome it all is. He never thought he'd be doing paid work, never thought he'd get to see a record store! And Jon's so nice, Ryan's so nice... Ryan's really nice. Pretty, too, with girlish features and the cutest scarf obsession and spouting poetic jargon and that cute little bitchface and...

Yeah, Brendon's just a little bit in puppy-love. Just a little. Ryan is cool. 

"Hey, Brendon, how are you this beautiful morning?" 

"Not bad, yourself?" 

"Absoloutely beautiful." 

Brendon has to stop himself from blurting out something along the lines of, "I can see that," because damn, Ryan does look good. As usual. 

"Jon and Dallon are cataloguing stuff, we got a new shipment in, so it's just you and me on customer service. You all good with that?" 

Yeah, Brendon's good with that. 

~~~

"Patrick Patrick Paaaaaatrick, 'Trick, 'Trick, c'mon little one, wake up, Patrick..." 

The blond teen cracks open a single eye and almost jumps out of his skin when he sees a tanned face a centimetre from his own. Pete's laughter is far too loud so early in the morning and Patrick fights the urge to bury his head under the covers of his mattress and hide under there. 

"Morning, Pete." 

"C'mon, we're doing stuff today! Joe's arranged this thing with this hella cool vegan drummer guy called Andy I sort of know and we're going to go jam with them!" 

"Jam?" 

Patrick's sleepy mind takes a while to register the word and for a moment he's thinking of breakfast condiments before Pete laughs again. 

"Going to bring my bass, drag your guitar along, play some songs. Joe plays guitar really well, I've been in like seven bands with Andy already but they've all failed but none of those bands had you in them!" 

Okay, what on earth is going on. 

"Sorry?"

"We're forming a band and we want you to be in it." 

The room is silent for a few moments as Patrick takes that in and then Pete is apologising, expression bashful and enthusiasm gone. 

"I'm sorry, I'm dragging you into this, you don't have to... it was just an idea, don't worry about it I just thought since the other day you were talking about playing a whole bunch of instruments and really liking playing in bands and I thought..." 

The bleach blond teen lets his words trail off as he sees Patrick's face split into a shy smile. 

"You want me to be in your band?" 

"If you want to!" 

Patrick's smile restores the enthusiasm to Pete's expression for a few moments but then his face falls again. 

"You aren't just... you aren't just agreeing because you feel like you need to? Because you're obeying orders? Because you don't want me to be angry?" 

Patrick goes to shake his head, because come on, Joe's cool and Pete's cool and this could be cool, but the thought hits him that maybe it's just second nature to him. Second nature to agree and to demure and to pretend. 

No. That's not what it is. 

"I've never been in a proper band before. I played with a few just as a fill in drummer but... if you're sure you'd want me? I mean, are you sure Joe and Andy would be okay with having a," Patrick swallows heavily- the word he's about to say seems to be caught in his throat so he rephrases his words, "someone who's not a freeman?" 

Watching the other teen's face carefully for a reaction, Patrick is half-terrified Pete's going to say something along the lines of, "good point, maybe not," or "you're right, they wouldn't want anyone as pathetic as you." 

Okay, it's not like Pete would say that- he's pretty sure Pete wouldn't say anything like that, unless he was really angry like the time when he tripped and- 

Patrick closes his eyes for a moment to push away those memories and focus on Pete's voice. 

"You've already met Joe and you know he's cool. Andy is massively against the slave system, he's really vocal about it and hates anyone who benefits from it- but not it's victims. Andy looks pretty scary but he's one of the nicest guys I know, yeah? A pacifist." 

"Oh, okay. If you're sure." 

The bleach blond teen beams and bounces up to stand. 

"We'll be leaving in half an hour, yeah? Joe lives a few minutes away from the music store so we can walk there pretty easily." 

Smiling in wordless agreement, Patrick nods and drags himself up, stumbling into the shower after snagging a decent pair of jeans and one of Pete's band tees. 

~~~

He agreed. He agreed! 

As soon as Patrick is out of sight, Pete can't hold back his celebration. Yes! 

The bleach blond teen is silently dancing around when he hears Patrick's voice. Great, now he's back to his possibly-least healthy and most-creepy habit: listening to the shy teen sing in the shower.

"Tonight is... tonight is it can't get much worse, vs no one should ever feel like!"

The melody isn't something Pete recognises but the words are his own. 

Patrick's taken his words and is putting them to music. The blond boy likes his lyrics, his stupid late night insomniac thoughts, likes them enough to memorise them put a melody to them and make them into so much more with his insanely beautiful voice. 

"These words are all I have so I'll write them..." 

He's gotten Patrick to agree to join the band... now he just has to get him to sing. 

~~~

The fire alarm wakes the Way brothers and drags them out of the bed where they're tangled together. Mikey rubs at his eyes sleepily as Gerard covers his ears, identically confused scowls on both teen's faces. 

"Sorry! Sorry!" 

Frank's voice can barely be heard over the blaring siren. Stumbling out of the bedroom (it is way too early for this shit) Mikey's eyes widen at the sight of the kitchen. 

The frying pan. 

Is on. 

Fire.

Fire?

Fire! 

"Sorry!" 

Gee is right behind his brother, hair mussed and expression confused. Mikey turns back to him and they shrug together. 

"Frank, what the actual hell?!" 

"I was making breakfast! You two are always doing the cooking, so I thought I'd try and make something..." 

Frank trails off and narrows his eyes at Gee's smirk and Mikey's lame attempts at covering his giggles. 

"Open the windows, try and get some air in here so that noise will stop- oh my god, Frank..." 

Mikey can't hold back his laughter any longer and he collapses in a mess of giggles, Frank's furious expression only making him laugh more. Gerard isn't quite as hysterical with laughter as he quickly darts to the windows, but he can't hide the grin on his face. Letting out an exaggerated sigh, Frank smiles gratefully and begins to search through the cupboards for a fire extinguisher. 

"How did you even manage that?!" 

"I was TRYING to make pancakes." 

Sticking his bottom lip out in an impressive pout, Frank manages to keep up an annoyed expression for about half a second before bursting into laughter. 

It takes a while, but after the combined efforts of Frank and Gerard (Mikey is a 'lazy little shit who enjoys watching other people's labourous efforts far too much' as labelled by Frank) the apartment is quiet again and the severly-burnt frypan has been disposed of. 

Only when the kitchen is silent does Gerard express his opinion. To Frank and Mikey's joy, he gets out a single word- "idiot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I love you all so much, with your amazing ideas and opinions and yeah. You're all amazing, thank you so much! I've pretty much figured out what I'm going to do with this story- you've all given me some very very cool things to think about! Thank you all so much!
> 
> Okay, dear readers, I have a dilemma.  
> I love this story. I honestly adore writing it, love seeing your reactions to it- heck, I quite like reading it myself and giggling at how terrible it is/how proud I am of it.  
> But I have no idea where this story is going.  
> It was brought to my attention to the way I described Lonely to a friend- 'a largely plotless series of somewhat related events with shitty character development and too much angst on the side'.  
> This story does not honestly have a plot, an overall direction, a resolution. Yes, there's the end goal of everyone getting together and happiness and comfort and all that jazz, but what should I do to keep the story going until it gets to that point?  
> I'm not just going to shove the pairings together and end the story. No way- I wouldn't do that to you guys or myself. But I do want/need your opinion on what I should do.  
> -End the story. It's not really going anywhere smoothly, so just wrap it up nicely.  
> -Carry on with the story, letting it become a huge trashheap of unrelated little episodes that might eventually result in some sort of romance.  
> -Carry on with the story with more established plot lines for each of the characters- but this is where I need help. I know what I'm doing with the Brallon (you can probably guess what sort of angst I've got planned after this chapter ayyyy) but I honestly have no idea what to do with the Peterick and the Frerard. There's the band plot with the Peterick- should I continue this, tell an alternate way for FOB to get big and make music? I've got no idea what to do with the Frerard- should I introduce Bert to the story as Gee's former owner, bring back Ray and Christina somehow.. idek!  
> This is your chance to influence this story... PLEASE HELP ME I BEG YOU I'M SO SORRY


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all your amazing comments make me so happy and you're all perfect don't let anyone ever tell you different!!!
> 
> also, fuck the whole one word beginning of the chapter i'm sorry I have used ever damn word that fits what the actual fuck i'm sorry 
> 
> NO ONE WANTS YOU WHEN YOU HAVE NO HEART
> 
> hallelujah is my life omg

"We are Forget Me Not and we will rock your faces off!" 

"Joe, that name could really not be any more lame." 

"Hey, that rhymed!" 

"I know. Shut up." 

Andy and Joe's bickering can be heard from rooms away and as they traipse up the steps of the apartment, Pete grins to himself. 

Dorks. 

Patrick is going to love them, and hopefully they're going to love Patrick. The other teen is looking somewhat terrified, the old trucker cap Pete found in the depths of his closet pulled tightly over his messy hair. Pete feels bad for a moment before steeling himself, reminding himself of Patrick's earlier enthusiasm. He must be nervous, that's all. 

"How about Short Story? That's a cool name, right- oh, hey Pete, hi Patrick! Can you guys please tell Andy that Short Story is a great name for the band?" 

Smirking at Andy's exasperated expression and Joe's enthusiastic smile, Pete dumps his bass on the ground and collapses onto Andy's couch, patting the seat next to him to signal for Patrick to join him. 

"Do you just want to have that name because we're all midgets? It's a terrible idea. Andy, this is Patrick." 

Watching on as Andy's eyes don't do the normal wander to Patrick's collar that most people's do, Pete can't hold back his sigh of relief when the red headed teen simply waves and smiles shyly at Patrick. 

"Nice to meet you." 

Nodding in return, Patrick smiles and absently raises a hand to scratch at his neck where his leather collar must be restricting his breathing. Oh, shit. Reaching out to the other teen, Pete asks permission with a raised eyebrow and is granted it with a grateful nod from Patrick. As he undoes the leather straps, the bleach blond teen is all too aware of Joe and Andy's eyes on them. Trying to ease the awkwardness of the situation, Pete keeps his voice light as he quips, "So I can be sure that neither of you are going to report us?" 

Andy lets out a quiet laugh and begins to fiddle with his drumsticks, beating a rhythm onto his knees. 

"I'd probably get arrested if I went down to a police station right now. I'd say it was all Mixon's fault, but that'd be a lie."

"I've heard that there's an anonymous hotline, though..." 

Joe voices that idea playfully but is quickly silenced by Pete's glare. The curly haired youth pokes out his tongue to show he was joking and claps his hands together. 

"So! Let's actually play something! Patrick, you know any Blink? Saves the Day?" 

Beaming at the adorableness of Patrick scrunching up his face as he tries to remember, Pete grins when the blond begins to hum Dammit under his breath. 

"I think I played a couple of songs by those bands when I was, uh..." 

It's awkwardly silent for a few moments before Pete intervenes. 

"I reckon we can all play Dammit, yeah? Let's give that a shot." 

Andy and Joe nod in agreement and move away to set up the amps, leaving Pete awkwardly fiddling with Patrick's collar in his hands. 

"I wish you didn't have to wear this thing." Nodding quietly, Patrick meets his eyes for a second before lowering them and smiling slightly. 

"Me too." 

It's oddly peaceful until Pete remembers what he has to do.

"So, um... would you be, like, okay with maybe trying out a little singing?" 

Not giving the other teen an opportunity to respond, Pete hurries on. 

"Like if you don't want to that's cool like I'm not going to order you to do it, I'm definitely not going to order you into doing anything you're not comfortable with, like it's  
totally up to you, man, I'm not going to get angry or..." 

The bleach blond teen examines the other teen for a reaction (Patrick is keeping his face carefully blank) before finishing.

"Do anything. It's your choice, we can get someone else to sing if you want and you could just guitar or whatever." 

Waiting anxiously for a response, Pete is immensely relieved when Patrick's face splits into a shy smile. 

"You... you want me to sing? You think I'd be good enough?"

"Yes! You're definitely good enough, man, your voice is fucking awesome, seriously." 

Thankfully not questioning how exactly Pete knows of his singing talents (Pete really does not want to explain about thin walls and singing in the shower), Patrick ducks his head in embarrassment at the praise.

~~~

"Well I guess this is growing up!" 

Finishing the song with an impromptu drum solo from Andy (man, Hurley is a fucking animal, Pete thinks happily to himself) the room is silent before Joe speaks up, summing up what they're all pretty much thinking.

"That, my friends, was fucking amazing." 

~~~

Frank pauses his music for a moment to play some random youtube video when a faint noise catches his ear. It's someone taking in rasping, shuddering breaths, and for a moment the dark haired teen rolls his eyes, thinking that he's clicked on a screamer accidentally. After pulling off his headphones, however, it's clear that the noise is coming from the apartment. 

Gerard is the only explanation for this- Mikey is seated comfortably outside on a swing in the little park outside their building, chatting away to Ray and Christina on Frank's phone. 

Shit.

Standing hurriedly and racing to the bedroom (because something is wrong, something is very wrong, Frank can hear it and he can feel it, in the pit of his stomach, a wrong-feeling curling in his gut) Frank pauses, composing himself and knocking. There's no noise from the bedroom except the loud gasping and what Frank begins to identify as sobbing. 

Oh, god. Something is very wrong. 

A million scenarios race through the freeman's mind as he pushes the door open (he'll apologise for the impolite intrusion later) but nothing prepares him for the sight Gerard curled in on himself in the corner of the room, bed abandoned and covers strewn around the room. The black haired teen is covering his head with his arms, cowering. 

He looks up before Frank can bring himself to speak and the freeman is shocked by what can only be described as animal fear in the boy's eyes. Opening his mouth and closing it again (because what should he say? What can he say?) Frank debates taking a step closer before dismissing the idea. Whatever's wrong, he has a strong feeling that crowding Gerard could be a bad idea. 

So he sits. 

Gerard's eyes remain trained on him, hazel and fearful and terrified, like he expects Frank to... do. Something. Frank's not sure what but he has a few awful suspicions that he really doesn't want to think about. 

It takes what feels like forever, trapped in the other boy's stare, but sooner or later Gerard's breathing begins to slow and he is no longer sobbing quite so hard. Frank takes that as his cue. 

"Gee? Are you alright?" 

Frank winces when the scared teen jumps at his words but relaxes when Gerard shakily shrugs. They're silent for a few minutes before Frank's eyes begin to wander, landing on Gerard's notebook as he debates how to handle this. 

Ah. 

Slowly, keeping his movements controlled and calm as not to scare him, Frank inches his way towards the book and then crawls within an arms reach of Gerard. Some of the raw fear has returned to Gee's eyes at Frank's closeness so the freeman simply pushes the notebook towards  
the youth, dragging himself backwards again as Gerard stares back at him. 

"You're safe here." 

Gerard shakes his head slightly at Frank's words and begins to scribble something, holding it up for Frank to see. 

"I'm not safe from my own head. Gee..." 

The freeman trails off, speechless. He doesn't know how to respond, doesn't know how to help. He's saved from speaking by the black haired boy in front of him silently dropping the notebook and crawling hesitantly forward, until he is pressed up against Frank. They sit like that, neither talking and neither moving, until Gerard's breathing slows and he reaches for his notebook. Frank is silent as he watches the black haired teen carefully write the words, relieved that he has stopped shaking. 

'I was dreaming, I'm sorry.' 

"Don't be." 

Nodding like he expected that answer, Gerard turns a page and begins to write. 

'My mind hates me. I keep getting these nightmares about him and I know that I'm safe here, it just terrifies me and I,' pausing for a moment, Gerard locks eyes with his owner and dropping his head, 'hate it so much.'

Frank doesn't know what to say.

"I don't know what to say."

Smirking slightly, Gerard nods and scribbles down a few words that make Frank smile.

'Then don't say anything.'

~~~

Dallon doesn't have a right to be jealous. He's just being stupid, that's all, it's not like he has a crush on Brendon, anyway! 

That would be ridiculous.

So ridiculous.

About as ridiculous as the stupid paisley shirt Ryan is wearing and the adorable way Brendon is staring at him when he thinks Ryan isn't looking, anyway.

It's been torture, spending the day watching Brendon staring at his crush with the puppy dog eyes.

Yes, Dallon is terribly jealous and petty and stupid but he just wishes Brendon would look at him like that.

"Bye, Ryan!"

"Oh, bye."

Dallon has to try very hard not to laugh at the wounded expression on Brendon's face when Ryan doesn't look up from the magazine he's leafing through. Jon's closing up for the night, locking doors and switching off lights as he sends various unimpressed faces towards Ryan's unhelpfulness. 

"You guys okay to come in next week?"

"Yeah, sure."

The four of them make meaningless small talk as they slowly wander outside, Jon shepherding the group with a slightly exasperated expression. Him and Ryan live together, platonically, and Dallon is 90% sure Ryan would just forget to eat, shower or come to work if Jon wasn't dragging him around. Their relationship is the cutest thing ever and however much Dallon wants to hate the vague teen, Ryan's great. 

Ryan's great, great for Brendon and if Dallon could just shove his stupid, stupid crush aside, that'd be REAL great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I already did the whole nightmare thing for peterick but I wanted to do it a little differently for the frerard. I'm sorry, don't hate me!
> 
> Sorry the brallon bit is so short omg I am but trash...


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY I haven't updated for like 3528253 years I've had this little flashback finished for about four days but haven't been able to get on my computer to update it, we've been so busy!
> 
> Now we're stressed out!

"Hello, my name's Brendon!" 

The black haired boy can't see the owner of the friendly voice very well, but he assumes they're one of the newer slaves to be shoved into the tiny rooms at the markets. He'd be able to recognize their voice if they were part of the first batch- or the second, or the third. 

"What's your name?" 

The stranger's voice is curious now, a little hesitant but still friendly as who sounds like a he shuffles towards Gerard and sits close to him. There's just enough light in the dim rooms for Gerard to shake his head silently and be seen. The stranger, Brendon, nods, obviously understanding. 

~~~

It's not unusual for slaves to not talk. Brendon's met enough mutes to know pressuring this kid won't work so he leans back to make sure he is a respectful distance away. Just because he's touchy-feely doesn't mean everyone is.

(Brendon knows he's not average. He's not broken and he refuses to be broken- but he knows how to treat those who are.) 

"Okay. How long have you been here?" 

The silent teen opposite him shrugs in dim light and holds up a few fingers- three. 

"Three days?" 

Watching as the other boy shakes his head, Brendon winces silently. 

"Weeks?"

The nod he gets back saddens the upbeat teen and for a moment he's silent. Brendon's heard stories of the Sweet Sixteen market from older slaves, been told of the arrogant rich kids and the pushy parents and the stifling holding rooms. The market opens on the 16th of June, he was told. 

To the best of his knowledge it's sometime late in May. 

They could be here a while. 

Snapping him out of his depressing thoughts, Brendon sees the other teen trying to get his attention without touching him and he feels bad for not noticing earlier. 

"Sorry, what are you trying to say?" 

Scrunching his (scarred, oh, god, Brendon's seen worse but now that he's noticed it, holy shit) face up in concentration, the youth seems to brighten as he points downwards. 

"Here? In here?"

Nodding enthusiastically, the mute smiles and gives Brendon an exaggerated thumbs up. 

"Yes? Good?" 

The other's teens happiness when he is understood is endearing and Brendon feels himself shuffle a little closer. If he's going to be stuck here for a while, he might as well have someone to 'talk' to, and this boy seems very sweet.

Reminds him of the puppy dog one of his Masters owned a while back- a gorgeous thing, dark furred with pretty hazel eyes and a lot of affection- too much affection for Brendon's owner. The other teen has that same shy enthusiasm and the air of a puppy, old beyond his years and kicked when he is down. 

"Out there?" 

The teen is pointing to the door and smiles happily when Brendon understands. Shaking his head dramatically, the mute curls in on himself and slowly leans back to rock on his heels, an expression of unhappiness on his scarred face. 

Oh. 

"Better than out there." 

~~~

The door is pushed open and there's a collective mutter of unhappiness as the bright light is blinding for a few moments, but it's dark again in a matter of seconds. A slight blond boy limps over to where Gerard and Brendon are slumped against each other, his eyes terrified and searching for safety. 

The two boys exchange a look before Brendon speaks up. 

"My name's Brendon and this is Gerard. We've been here a little while. What's your name?"


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They say stay in your lane, boy!   
> I've said this so many times, but all the lovely comments I get on this story make me so happy, thank you all so much!

Strange. 

This is strange. New, and strange. 

Not a bad thing, Frank's pretty sure of that, but a good thing? Probably not. He should not be feeling like this. 

They're sitting silently together, Gerard's shoulder brushing his and head resting against the wall a few centimetres from Frank's. Gerard hasn't done the whole physical contact thing with Frank yet, and it's strange. Because Frank likes this, this closeness, and it's weirding him out because Gerard just doesn't give him the opportunity to be near to him and enjoy the physical closeness. 

Sure, the scarred teen cuddles with Patrick and hugs Brendon and sleeps in the same damn bed as Mikey, but he just hasn't really touched Frank yet.

(Except for that one time where, for the briefest of moments, he pressed up against Frank and somehow gave him the strength to face his parents. But Frank is blocking  
that memory from surfacing because, man, that sucked.) 

A quiet, peaceful exhale comes from his side and Frank turns his head minutely to see that Gerard has closed his eyes, letting his dark fringe fall into his face. He needs a haircut, Frank thinks fondly and he raises his hand to push the fringe out of the boy's face before freezing. 

What the fuck is he doing. 

Shit. 

This is not good, this is not good. Not at all. 

Gerard snores quietly, surprising Frank and he can't stop the smile that comes to his face. Oh, man. Gerard... Gerard trusts him enough to fucking fall asleep next to him, oh god, the poor kid must be so tired but what is he doing? Why is he letting this happen, oh god, didn't he learn his lesson after Brandon? And why the hell is he taking advantage of Gerard like this?! 

Frank is furious at himself, mentally berating himself for the way he's let himself become attached to this kid and oh god, oh god, Gerard trusts him. Gerard's not scared of him and Frank is betraying that trust by feeling like this about him and- 

"I'm done, Christina and Ray say hi and they want to come visit soon, is that o- Gee? Frank?" 

At the intrusion of Mikey's words Gerard starts awake and blinks a few times before stretching, catlike. He pulls away from Frank with a smile before beaming up at Mikey silently. 

"Uh... what were you two doing?" 

Shrugging, Gerard snags his notebook and scribbles a few words. Frank can't see them from where he is but Mikey's reaction is enough for him.

"Uh huh. Well- wait, Gee, you've been crying! What's wrong?!" 

Shrugging again, the black haired slave ducks his head, not answering the question. 

"Frank, you didn't..." 

Mikey trails off and for a moment, Frank is ridiculously offended. 

Come on. 

He thought Mikey would know by now that he would never- and then the freeman remembers his earlier thoughts and cringes internally at how much he misses Gerard's  
warmth by his side. Yeah, he has no right to feel offended whatsoever. The Way Brothers are both staring at him with equally curious expressions and Frank quickly pulls himself together. 

"Uh, I came in because I heard Gerard, um, upset. He had a..." 

Choosing his words carefully, Frank meets Gerard's eyes for a moment before looking away. 

"A bad dream." 

Nodding wordlessly, Mikey seems to understand. Sending Frank a smile that's half apology and half relief, the lanky youth pads over to where Gerard is standing and hugs him quickly, letting his brother bury his head in his shoulder. 

"You're okay, Gee?" 

The scarred teen nods, pulling away from the hug after a while and bending down to pick up his notebook. 

'So what are we doing today?' 

Hiding from you and trying to banish any feelings I have for you, Frank thinks unhappily to himself. 

"Uh, I'm going to go out. I'm meeting one of my friends for a coffee date." 

As he turns to leave, the slightly confused and somewhat hurt expression on Gerard's face hits Frank like a slap from his parents. 

Shit. 

He's out of the door as soon as possible, closing it behind him gently. Gerard and Mikey will be fine without him He needs some time to think to himself, that's all. 

~~~

"Man, that was amazing! Andy's solo was the most insane thing ever and Joe is just amazing and you're perfect and we are going to like save rock and roll or something because this band is going somewhere, somewhere really awesome because that was perfect." 

Patrick can feel his cheeks darken and he's flustered for a moment before Pete's grin makes him smile again.

"Biggest band in the country. Maybe even the world! I'm calling it now, 'Trick- we are going to be huge." 

Today was awesome. Andy was so nice, Joe was so nice, and Pete is always so so so perfectly perfectly wonderful and the band was amazing and he got to sing, he got to sing and Pete said he was perfect and even the itchy leather collar weighing him down as they walk home can't lower Patrick's spirits. 

"Top of the charts, man, platinum singles, music videos, worldwide tours and fans and we are going to be amazing." 

Nodding, Patrick hums a little under his breath as he beams at Pete. The older teen is bouncing on the balls of his feet, face animated. 

"You enjoyed it, yeah? Joe and Andy really liked you." 

"It was... perfect. You're right, Pete, we're going to be huge." 

Obviously glad that Patrick is happy and that he's going along with his game, Pete laughs his stupid donkey bray of a laugh and continues predicting what will definitely be there future. Definitely. 

It's a beautiful afternoon and Patrick feels light and relaxed and happy. Everything is perfect. 

"We'll get signed, to some ridiculously awesome label, and Brendon's band can tour with us, and people will write fanfiction about us and we'll get a name. A really cool name. You got any ideas?" 

Shrugging, Patrick wracks his brains for a few moments before coming up with nothing. 

"No idea. Joe said something about Short Story?" 

Bumping Patrick lightly with his shoulder, Pete snickers and shakes his head dramatically. 

"Do we really want people making fun of our lack of height for all of our incredible career?" 

Giggling, Patrick realises Pete is waiting for an answer to his seemingly-rhetorical question. 

"Uh, no? That would possibly be bad?" 

"Just a little. Then again, it's not like I have any better ideas..." 

The two of them laugh and for a moment, Patrick is blissfully happy. Then he raises his guard again, remembering how something is going to happen, something is going to go wrong, and he'll come crashing down from this high. 

Pete seems to notice the change in his expression and stops, looking at the blond teen curiously. 

"What? Are you okay? Did I say something bad?" 

The bleach blond furiously searches through his recent memory to try and find something that could've offended Patrick. The way his eyebrows furrow is honestly adorable and Patrick relaxes, scolding himself (and giggling quietly, because Pete looks like a massive dork when he's thinking hard). Nothing's going to happen. 

"I'm all good. Sorry." 

"Nothing to be sorry about, little one. You... you tell me if I ever say anything wrong or anything you don't like, yeah? Tell me if I ever cross a line, physical or verbal or whatever. Please." 

Pete's expression is deadly serious as he resumes walking again, eyes filled with concern. 

"I will." 

It's quiet for a moment before Patrick hurriedly continues. 

"You haven't done anything, it's okay, you're perfect, you're perfect..." 

He trails off at Pete's brightening expression and feels himself smile. 

"I'm perfect?! You're perfect! Oh, man, did you see the expression on Joe's face when you started singing that Prince song? Seriously..." 

"Does Ryan like boys?" 

Yes, Brendon knows the question is completely random and out of the blue, and the slightly sour expression on Dallon's face at the question is a little unsettling, but after a millisecond Dallon's face has reassembled itself into something more friendly and it seems like the question wasn't too awkward. 

"I'm not sure. You want me to text Jon about it?" 

Dallon's voice is somewhat strained as he answers the question, but Brendon shrugs it off with a smile. The taller teen is probably just tired or something. Brendon's Disney marathon did keep them up pretty late last night, and he's been a little moody all day. 

"Yeah, if you don't mind. Wait, is that normal? Just asking someone else about someone's sexuality?" 

"Yeah. Jon will be cool with it. He's pretty chill." 

Dallon types something into his phone before slipping it back into the pocket of his jeans. 

"Why do you want to know?"

Trying to act casual (but knowing he's failing miserably) Brendon shrugs and smiles.

"Just curious." 

"Fair enough." 

It's quiet for a little while after that, before Dallon's phone buzzes. 

"Jon says that yes, Ryan does like boys, and girls, and that he currently is in a polyamorous relationship with some chick named Z and this dude Dan Keyes. Jon says sorry." 

"Okay." 

Brendon is ever-so-slightly crushingly disappointed before inwardly pushing all thoughts of Ryan Ross out of his mind. 

He didn't even really like him, anyway. Ryan is just cute, and older, and funny sweet and okay, Brendon is very disappointed. 

"Bad luck, man." 

Dallon's words are sympathetic but Brendon thinks he can detect just the tiniest bit of sarcasm under them and that pisses him off. What is Dallon's problem, anyway? 

It's that hint of sarcasm partnered with the way his Master's lips are slightly downturned that makes Brendon lash out. 

"Whatever. It's not like you care." 

Dallon's expression turns coldly furious and Brendon is almost worried before it changes to something more like hurt. 

Oh. 

Feeling guilty for being concerned about Dallon being angry, Brendon regrets his words for a minute and opens his mouth to apologise before the other teen turns away. 

"I'm going over to Frank and Gerard's for dinner tonight. You can come if you want, although apparently I don't care." 

Ouch. 

~~~

There's a somewhat tense atmosphere in Frank's apartment that night. 

Although Pete and Patrick both try their best to lighten the mood, and despite Mikey doing his best to bounce around brightly like usual, everyone else is on edge. 

Gerard is sulking for whatever reason, Patrick thinks curiously as he tries to cheer his friend up, to no avail. Mikey has no idea either why the silent teen isn't happy either. 

Brendon is torn between apologizing and getting angry at the way Dallon is only communicating eith him in hurt glances and mean, snarky comments. 

And Frank is silent, trying to alienate himself from Gerard as much as possible because it's not right. It's not right and he shouldn't be feeling anything for the silent teen.

It's not right.


	26. Chapter 26

"Hey, 'Trick, you got any idea why everyone was so pissed at each other tonight?" 

The question doesn't surprise Patrick- he was wondering the exact same thing. 

The meal with their friends had been strange. 

Frank had excused himself the minute they'd finished eating, and Dallon and Brendon had left soon after. Gerard and Mikey had stayed around for a little longer, Mikey dragging Pete away to teach him a little more on the base, and Gerard sketching silently and all but ignoring Patrick's attempts at conversation. The blond boy had eventually resigned himself to just pressing himself against Gee, silently offering his support and affection. Gerard seemed to appreciate it, until he left with Mikey, pulling Patrick into a tight hug before going. 

Patrick shrugs in Pete's vague direction as he rummages in the cupboards for the mugs. 

"I'm not sure, sorry." 

Returning the blond's shrug, Pete collapses clumsily onto the couch and sighs. 

"They were all just acting so weird. Like, I know I don't know Brendon too well, but I've never seen him so quiet. And Frank was even more brooding and sulky than usual!" 

Pete's lame attempt at a joke falls a little flat but Patrick smiles anyway, heaping hot chocolate powder into the mug. 

Hot cocoa has become his thing, now that the nightmares have all but stopped and Pete has no longer felt the need to get something to help calm him down. It's Patrick's little way of repaying Pete, no matter how much the bleach blond assured him that it was fine. 

Fine. 

Everything is fine. 

Smiling slightly to himself as he delivers the drink, Patrick nods in response to Pete's grateful expression. The bleach blond teen pulls himself into a sitting position, taking a sip of the drink and grinning and Patrick. His milk moustache is the most adorable thing and Patrick can't help but giggle a little at the sight. 

"Thanks, little one. You don't have to do that, you know, I'm perfectly capable of dragging my lazy ass up." 

"I know." 

Settling himself on the arm of the couch, Patrick peacefully sips at the hot chocolate and clasps his hands around the mug. It's just on the right side of too warm and although it's not exactly cold in Pete's apartment, it's not warm either. Winter has seemed to come over the last few hours and Patrick is fighting the urge to just curl up on his mattress and stay hidden under the million blankets Pete has heaped upon him.

That'd be nice. 

But it’s barely dark outside.

“Are you okay?”

The question is pretty much completely out of the blue, breaking through the peaceful silence that has settled over the room.

“Only Gerard seemed upset and Brendon was sulking and you know I worry.” 

He should be used to Pete's concern by now, but he's not. He's really not. It's strange and it's weird and it's not exactly unwanted, not at all. 

Not. 

At. 

All. 

"I'm fine. I'm fine, Pete, don't worry about me." 

It's silent and the blond boy can feel his owner inhale softly. Then the tension in the air cracks as Pete snorts with laughter, gently nudging Patrick with his shoulder and poking out his tongue playfully. 

"It's either worrying about you, or worrying about myself, and trust me, I much prefer you." 

Smiling shyly back at Pete, Patrick shrugs and hesitantly bumps him back. The bleach blond's eyes light up at the tiny bit of physical contact, no matter how small, and for a moment, Patrick's mind goes into terror mode.

Pete likes the physical contact between them and he knows Pete is attracted to him, he's seem the desire in the bleach blond's eyes before, and he knows Pete owns him and he has to do whatever he says, no matter what Pete's said about not doing that and what if Pete- 

"'Trick, you alright?"

Pete's eyes are full of concern as he draws away from Patrick and the blond boy sucks in a deep breath. He's being stupid. 

"Yeah. I'm going to go to bed now, is that okay?" 

Fixing him with a faux serious glare, Pete fakes sternness for a moment before crossing his eyes goofily. 

"You don't have to ask, man. Goodnight!" 

~~~

"Okay, what the hell is going on tonight?" 

Mikey is pissed off. Frank has been distant and quiet all evening, while Gerard has silently sulked. It's really weirding the younger teen out and he would like some answers. 

Like, ASAP. 

Fixing Frank with a hard glare, Mikey has to fight the urge to roll his eyes when the short teen just shrugs and looks away. Gerard doesn't respond any better, glaring back at his brother for a moment before tearing his eyes away. 

"You two are angry at each other or something and it's freaking me out. What's going on?" 

Frank murmurs something non-committal as Gerard just drops his sketchpad on the floor, throwing his pen away and scowling. Ugh. They're not giving him anything. 

Mikey makes a logical decision to drag Frank away (because he can't make Gerard talk when Gee doesn't want to) and sends a scowl back at his brother. Frank doesn't even protest, allowing himself to be pulled into what is practically Mikey and Gerard’s bedroom by now. 

"What is it?"

Wincing at how uninterested the other teen sounds, Mikey squares his shoulders and narrows his eyes fiercely. He's not intimidating whatsoever and knows that, but, he has to try something. 

He can't stand this awkwardness and who knows how long the two of them will be angry for?! 

"Frank, please tell me what's going on. You two are angry at each other and I want to know why." 

Shuffling his feet awkwardly, Frank's eyes fell on the door. 

"You won't tell Gee?" 

Restraining himself from grinning (because progress! Something!), Mikey shakes his head feverently. 

"You really won't tell him?" 

"I won't. I promise." 

A horrible thought strikes Mikey and he bites his lip nervously before voicing it, "Unless it's going to hurt Gee somehow." 

The way Frank snickers under his breath confuses the younger teen. 

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him." 

"Okay. Fine. So what's up?" 

The dark haired teen runs a hand through his hair nervously before biting at his fingernails quickly, pausing only when he registers Mikey's expectant stare. 

"I, um, I..." 

Frank trails off. 

"You said you'd tell me!" 

Mikey knows he's going into annoyed-toddler mode, but seriously- he wants to know. There's obviously something up. 

"I, uh, I… have feelings for Gerard. Like, romantic. Feelings. And stuff." 

Wait, what.

What. 

"What?" 

"I knew you'd react like this, I know, I know, I've tried to forget about it but-" 

Laughing in disbelief, Mikey watches Frank cut himself off and immediately stops. 

This is serious. 

Oh, man, this is so, so far from serious. 

~~~

"Are you sulking now? Is that it?" 

Dallon is sprawled on the couch with his laptop when Brendon's voice breaks through his bubble of quietness. The slave's words are sharp and they piss off Dallon more than a little. 

Brendon's the one who snapped at him, and Brendon's the one who's been pouting all evening. 

"Oh, I'm the one sulking?" 

Brendon snorts rudely in response and busies himself in the kitchen, slamming plates down on the bench with far more force than necessary. The room is silent for a moment before Brendon spins around, eyes angry and hands balled into fists. 

"Shut the fuck up, yeah?" 

"What did you want me to do, not respond? Dude, it's like you want to pick a fight. Oh, wait, that's exactly what you're trying to do. Just because you're pissed off about Ryan not being single-" 

"Shut the fuck up!" 

The chestnut haired teen's voice cracks on the last syllable and Dallon feels ridiculously guilty. Shit, that was not okay. He's about to apologise when Brendon fires another bullet-

"You're a fucking dickhead of a Master, fuck you, at least none of my old ones found it funny when I got my fucking feelings hurt. Oh wait- they did!" 

It's deathly silent. 

Previously to Brendon's last comment, their eyes had been locked, but at the other teen's words, Dallon drops his eyes to the ground. 

That- 

... 

There's a lump in his throat now and he closes his eyes, knowing that he's trembling with what is no longer rage. 

That was not okay. 

"I'm not like them." 

Silence. Brendon is trying to meet his eyes, opening his mouth to say something, to apologise, maybe, or, more likely, fire another bullet, but Dallon is keeping his eyes trained on the ground. 

"I'm not like them?" 

He phrases the words as a question this time, knowing his voice is rough and cracking and fucking heartbroken, because he thought he was better than them. 

Them.

But maybe he's not. 

He doesn't even hear the apologies and denials falling from Brendon's lips as he snags his coat off the hook. He doesn't look back as he carefully walks outside, closing the door softly behind him, completely numb. 

He's like them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so late I am but twenty one pilots trash blurryface is the best thing ever ever ever and this fic http://archiveofourown.org/works/2161182 updated like fifty million times times oh man I have never been so happy in like my entire life if you want to read a fic similar ish to this pile of trash (it inspired lonely, lonely little life and is incredible!!!) go read it please I s2g tyler and josh are just perfect and the story is just so gorgeously heartbreaking and it’s very very very dark and beautiful and i'll shut up and write now sorry
> 
> i’m considering writing a prequel of sorts to this story that tells patrick’s story from the moment he loses his freedom to when he meets pete. i’ll probably write it no matter what, because i’ve got heaps of ideas about it, but as a matter of curiosity, would anyone read it? it wouldn’t really be shippy or cute or romantic but i want to write it.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bring on a new totally unnecessary new temporary character!
> 
> another update because i'm so sorry about the cliffy :)
> 
> your comments make me so ridiculously happy and i'm so thankful for all of you guys, thank you so much!
> 
> btw, I am severely regretting making everybody 16 ish. in my head, Pete is around 19, Dallon is 17 ish, Brendon is 17, Patrick is about 16, Gerard is around 18, Frank is about 17 and Mikey is about 15.

He's lost. 

It's been over an hour since he left Brendon behind, numbly leaving the apartment without thinking about where he was going or what he was doing. Dallon is lost, and he doesn't know what to do. The tall youth has found himself in an unfamiliar neighborhood, not recognizing anything around him and not having a phone or his wallet or anything. 

Shit. 

He's starting to think that maybe he's not like them, that maybe he's just some shivering fool soaked to the skin who should really just go home. 

Or maybe he is like them, because the hurt and rage on Brendon's face hurts more than the rain stabbing him in the back and the bitter cold. 

"Having some trouble finding your place in the world, hey, I know how much that hurts..." 

Dallon's softly sung words (they're not his, they're from some band off youtube) seem to echo around the deserted streets and he sighs heavily to himself. He's fucked up big time. Brendon's probably either still pissed and hoping that he dies before he can come home, or freaking out and rallying a search party. 

(Dallon's hoping for the latter, not only because he really doesn't want Bren to be mad at him anymore and because he just needs the confirmation that he's a good person, good for Brendon- he can't feel his feet anymore and he can't see anywhere ahead where he'd be able to shelter from the rain anytime soon.) 

"I'd like to go home now. Click my heels together or whatever. That'd be really cool, man." 

He half expects a response before remembering that, oh, right, he's in the middle of fucking nowhere and everyone is fucking asleep because it's like half past fuck it at night and there's no one to here him rambling to himself like the crazy he is. 

"The fuck are you doing out here?" 

Well, shit. There is someone out here to listen to his ramblings. 

~~~

Pete is just settling into bed when the frantic banging on his door disturbs him. 

Ugh. 

It's, like, 11 o clock at night, what the fuck. Stumbling out of his bedroom and past a bemused-looking Patrick to pull open the door, Pete is more than a little surprised when he comes face to face with Brendon. 

"Dude, what-" 

"Dallon's gone and I don't know where he is! We had a fight and he said some bad things and I said some really bad things and he was really, really upset and just kind of left and I didn't follow him and now he's gone and I don't know where he is." 

Seeing Brendon sucking in shallow, panicked breaths and trembling violently is pretty much heart breaking. Pete sees Patrick out of the corner of his eye, rising hurriedly and rushing to comfort the terrified teen in front of them, but even with Patrick's arms wrapped around him, Brendon doesn't calm down. 

"This is all my fault I don't know where he is it's cold and it's raining and he's probably lost and-" 

"Brendon, listen to me. You need to calm down, yeah? Dallon is going to be fine and we're going to find him." 

Cutting himself off and nodding silently, Brendon stares ahead with glassy eyes. Pete takes his silence as a chance to motion for Patrick to bring him inside to the couch, and to ask him some questions. 

"Did he take anything with him? His phone, money, anything?" 

Brendon shakes his head and looks down, leaning into Patrick.

"His phone and wallet are on the kitchen bench." 

The bleach blond teen nods in response. It's unnerving to see Brendon so freaked out. The chestnut haired teen is usually so bouncy and unshakably happy and outgoing- this is kind of scaring him. It's obviously scaring Patrick as well- Pete gets the feeling that out of Gee, Patrick and Brendon, Brendon was and is the strong one. 

He sends Patrick a reassuring smile and the blond teen ducks his head, smiling softly back. 

"So he didn't say where he was going?" 

"No. He just left."

~~~

"What the fuck am I doing out here. What the fuck are YOU doing out here?!" 

Dallon has no idea what prompts him to respond so viciously to the silhouette leaning casually against the bricks of a nearby building, but he does, and he surprises himself with the venom in his voice. He kind of wants to take the words back but the figure merely snickers in amusement. 

"Bro, I got no fucking idea. I wish I wasn't out here. What about you?" 

Creeping forward until he can see the face of the person, Dallon realizes that they're a girl. More of a woman, really, a beautiful woman with smudged makeup and ridiculously high heels. 

"Pretty much the same. Oh man, I just want to be home right now." 

The woman snickers again and sends him a somewhat malicious glance before taking a quick drag of the cigarette in her hand. 

"And why aren't you home right fucking now, kid?" 

"Because I'm not. What's it to you?" 

Blowing a perfect smoke ring (how, Dallon wonders, do people do that), the woman shrugs. 

"My name's Sarah and I care what you think." 

Well, fair enough.

Settling himself next to her, Dallon shrugs and begins talking. He needs to tell someone about whatever the hell is going on in his brain- why not a random, possibly drunk stranger? 

"You see, my friend, who I kind of own, but is still my friend, has this crush on this guy..." 

~~~

There's no logical way for them to find Dallon. Pete knows that. It's raining, he could have gone anywhere and there's really no point in going out to look for him. But there's no way Brendon's going to calm down if they don't find him. 

"I'll go out to look for him, yeah? Brendon, you stay here with Patrick. I'm going to take Dallon's phone and call you if I find him." 

The chestnut haired teen nods, pressing himself into Patrick, who also nods. 

"Can't I come? I want to..." 

Brendon trails off at the expression on Pete's face.

How does he answer that? It's a delicate question, Pete thinks to himself sadly, averting his eyes and pulling on his jacket. 

"You, uh... I don't have proof of, um, ownership, of you, so you can't leave your home. I wish it was different, I know how much you want to go-" 

"I get it. Okay." 

Smiling awkwardly, Pete waves a hasty goodbye and heads out. 

~~~

"And then he said that I was like them." 

Sarah didn't interrupt once as Dallon spilled his guts to her, but she speaks up now with a slightly skeptical expression on her face. 

"So you just walked out. And you have no fucking idea how to get home?" 

Dallon nods shortly and she snickers under her breath, expression to changing one of amusement. Well, fine. He sees how it is.

Despite her mockery, however, he's feeling a hell of a lot better and a lot less numb. His mother would probably spin some bullshit about 'a problem shared, a problem halved' but confessions in the rain are strangely therapeutic. 

"Bro, you're a fucking idiot." 

"Well, I know that!" 

Sarah's laugh echoes around the street and she brushes dark hair out of her eyes with a pale hand. Dallon can't help but notice her nails- painted bright red to match the firetruck shade of lipstick she's wearing that is somewhat smudged. All of her makeup is bleeding in the rain- her eyeliner has fallen to paint dark circles under her dark eyes, although those circles could've already been there. 

"So that's my story. What's yours?" 

Sarah shrugs and smiles wryly. 

"I don't even fucking know. No dramatic backstory, no love triangles, no storming out. I just went out with a couple of friends and then they fucking ditched me. I can't remember the way home, either!" 

She's obviously striving for humor, but her attempt falls flat.

"Well, do you have a car?" 

Dallon's question is obviously stupid because Sarah snickers again and slides slowly to the ground, closing her eyes and beckoning for Dallon to join her. 

He does. 

"I'm dead drunk right now. No way am I stupid enough to drive- I'm not fucking suicidal, bro." 

Fair enough, really, but there goes his one hope of getting hope. 

He is really, really lost. 

~~~

"I told him that he was as bad as the others, 'Trick! I can't even believe I said it. I was just so angry and him and upset over Ryan and-" 

"Bren, calm down. Pete will find him and it'll be fine."

Patrick has dragged the panicked teen to their couch, trying to calm him down. Brendon is freaking out and- wait, Ryan? Who's Ryan? Patrick voices his thoughts and  
gets a raised eyebrow in return. 

"You want to hear about Ryan?" 

"I want to know who this Ryan guy is!" The blond teen is worried for a moment until Brendon laughs quietly and lies down next to him, head in Patrick's lap and eyes closed.

"Ryan's a guy who's not single. That's who Ryan is." 

"That really doesn't give me much information, Bren." 

It feels funny when Brendon laughs- Patrick can feel him exhaling sharply and the way he shakes slightly with laughter. 

"I could talk about Ryan all night. He works at the music store where Dallon and I work and he's kind of perfect. Beautiful and clever and ridiculously poetic and he wears too many stupid scarves and I have a crush. Had a crush. I'm not sure." 

"Oh." 

Patrick's silent for a moment, processing this information. 

"You... a crush? You... get those?" 

A crush. 

A crush. 

Is... is that what Pete's feeling at the moment? 

For him?

And is that what he's feeling? 

Patrick's brain is whirring in frantic circles, desperately trying to figure out how this works. Memories are swamping him now, of his family and his hometown and being free, being a normal teen and getting crushes on the captain of the netball team and the captain of the football team and then being used, stared at with want in cold eyes and- a crush.

So that's what it's called. 

He'd practically forgotten what it felt like to put a name to those feelings, holy smokes, forgotten how to feel anything more than fear and fierce protectiveness and worry and pain. 

Patrick realises that Brendon is saying something so he pulls himself out of his thoughts and pays attention. 

"... so what about you?" 

"What about me?" 

Brendon's looking at him with a strange expression on his face and Patrick can feel his cheeks darken. Brendon knows. 

Brendon knows how strange a crush is to him, how strange the very concept of innocent attraction is.

Because he can't remember how to feel like that and it hurts. 

"I don't know. I don't know." 

~~~

"Dallon!" 

It's really cold, he's soaked to the skin, and it's really, really dark. 

Pete is not in a good mood. Why did Dallon have to run off, anyway? And why couldn't he have, like, taken his phone?! 

The bleach blond teen has been traipsing around for what feels like forever with absolutely no sign of Dallon. Shit, he knew this was a bad idea. He's never going to find him and he's probably going to die of hyperthermia or something because- 

"Pete!" 

Dallon's voice is the third best thing he's ever heard (Patrick's laugh and singing voice taking first and second place respectively) so Pete grins widely, spinning around and trying to see him. He can just make out two figures leaning against a wall twenty metres away. Wait. Two figures?! 

"Hey, Pete, you found me! Now how the fuck do we get home?!"

Shuffling towards Dallon, Pete begins to make sense of his companion, seeing her pretty features and cynical grin. A little too old for him, and Pete's got his sights set elsewhere, but still. She's very, very beautiful, and very, very drunk. 

"I don't even know man. Who's your friend?" 

"I'm Sarah, it's pretty fucking nice to meet you. You better take your friend back home, kid. We've had a fucking lovely chat but I kind of want to get out of the rain now." 

"Sarah, I thought we were really bonding! How could you say that!" 

The woman snickers quietly and shoves Dallon, a little harder than necessary, and fixes him with a stern glare. 

"You go back home and you apologise and then you get with him, yeah?" 

"Sure, Sarah. Anything to make you smile." 

Pete watches on as Sarah and Dallon laugh together. 

Well then. Dallon has made a friend in the middle of nowhere. 

(That's lovely, really, but it'd be much better if he could do that when it wasn't FUCKING RAINING AND FREEZING AND ASS O'CLOCK AT NIGHT) 

"Bye, Sarah. Have a nice life and tell me how it goes with Breezy, yeah?" 

"Sure, kid. Good luck with Brendon." 

In the end Pete has to practically drag Dallon away from an increasingly emotional Sarah. She seems very nice but if hasn't made it clear before, it is fucking cold. 

They walk in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before Pete remembers Brendon and Patrick back at the apartment, probably freaking out. Then he has an idea. 

"Dallon, you can call Brendon and tell him you're alright, okay? He's freaking out, man." 

Nodding silently without protest, the taller teen takes the offered phone and dials the number nervously. It doesn't even get a chance to ring for long before Brendon's frantic voice can be heard. 

"Did you find him?" 

Sending Pete a side wards glance and smiling slightly when the bleach blond teen nods encouragingly, Dallon takes a deep breath and begins. 

"Yeah, he found me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the drama is practically immediately resolved because I am weak sad lonely emo trash.
> 
> DID YA'LL CATCH THE VICES AND VIRTUES REFERNCES BC THAT SHIT WAS PRETTY HELLA!
> 
> i'm so lame.
> 
> we had a careers expo today which was literally me screaming internally for about three hours because I have no :) idea :) what i'm going to do :) with my :) life :)


	28. Chapter 28

(this isn't an actual chapter, I'm so sorry, I'll explain below)

Hey, everyone. I know I haven't updated in so so sooooo long, and I'm really really sorry about that. I'm angry at myself and I'm really sorry because you readers are the most amazing people ever and I never thought this story would get this big- but it is kind of ish big and it's all thanks to you guys. I'm so grateful for all your kudos, your comments, your bookmarks and reads- it means so much to me that what I'm writing is getting read. But I'm going to have a little bit of a break for a while.

So, yeah. Sorry. 

First things first, this story is NOT OVER and definitely NOT ABANDONED. I don't know when I'll be alright to start writing again, but I will be writing this again as soon as I can.

Okay. Um. I don't know if you're willing to listen to excuses, but I've got a two. Sorry about that. 

I write this fic on my phone, I write everything on my phone, and email it to myself. However, school did something with our emails and I'm not quite sure what happened, but I can't receive emails from my phone. Until I figure out this crap, no updates. (I know that I could write on my computer, but I write faster on my phone than laptop and can write on my phone everywhere, unlike on my laptop where I only use it at school and my living room.)

That's just technical stuff. At the moment I'm just not in the mood to write... last Monday night, one of my close friends was in a car accident. He has brain damage, is in intensive care and we don't know if he's going to pull through. I'm terrified as fuck and upset and I can't write or think in this state, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry and I know a lot of you enjoy reading this, but I just can't write at the moment.

So, yeah. Um. I say that a lot, oops. I hope you are all happy and safe and please don't hate me too much, I will be actively writing again soon. Hopefully.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More notes at the end, but yeah, I'm back. This chapter is really short but yeah I'm writing again.

It's pitch black outside and bright white inside by the time Pete unlocks the door of his apartment, fiddling with his keys then stepping back to let Dallon through. The taller teen takes a single step inside and then Brendon is there, wrapping his arms around him. 

Despite how ridiculously skinny the chestnut haired teen still is, he's surprisingly strong- not that Dallon is going to try to detach him. Hell, he's soaked to the skin, and Brendon is still holding on for dear life. He has a feeling the thin youth is not going to let go anytime soon and he's absoloutely fine with that- resting his chin on Brendon's fluffy head, Dallon resists the urge to babble apologies. There will be plenty time for that. Instead, he holds the smaller teen close and attempts to convey all his apologies and love wordlessly. 

The smaller teen mutters something, but his words are muffled and Dallon smiles to himself. 

Dork. 

Pulling away enough that his face is clear of Dallon's saturated shirt, Brendon repeats himself quietly.

"I'm sorry I said that stuff. It was wrong of me, and I'm sorry." 

His voice is clipped and oddly formal, drawing confusing parallels for Dallon to the way he's still holding him tightly. He pushes the confusion aside, however, as Brendon looks up at him with a sober expression. 

"I'm sorry for provoking you and storming out like that. I won't do it again, yeah?"

"Damn right you won't! I probably have pneumonia now, dickhead." 

Wincing slightly, Dallon turns to Pete ready to apologise. However, Pete's expression is warm, and his eyes are dancing with barely controlled laughter, so he relaxes and pokes out his tongue in a silent response.

"I called pizza for a midnight- oh, wait, it's two fucking AM, thanks, dude- late night snack, so you owe me. Like, even more." 

With that, the bleached blond teen strolls out of their apartment with a smiling Patrick following.

"Bye, Bren. You're okay, yeah?" 

Voice muffled, (because his face is pressed into Dallon's sopping clothes again, jeez, is this kid not bothered by cold and wet?!), Brendon gets out a goodbye and an affirmative. Dallon watches as the blond boy beams at Brendon's response, and he smiles to himself. The two of them must have talked while Pete was out finding him, that's for sure, and for a moment he wonders what the topic of their conversation was. But that's none of his business.

They stay like that, together and not talking, till the knock on the door pushes them apart. 

"I-" 

Dallon clears his throat awkwardly- voice, this is not a good time for a puberty flashback- and tries to speak again.

"I got it." 

It's the same pizza guy from last time standing at the door, box in hand and eyes narrowed in annoyance. 

"Why the fuck do you want pizza at two AM, and why the fuck are we a 24 hour pizza place?! Nobody orders pizza this fucking late. What am I doing with my life? What are you doing with your lives?!"

"Uh, nothing. Sorry. I think. Thanks."

Paying awkwardly as Brendon takes the food, Dallon smiles hesitantly at the guy.

"So, has anyone accepted your number yet?" 

The guy scoffs and runs a hand through his brown hair, nose ring glinting in the light.

"Dude, yeah. I'm hot as fuck, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I hadn't noticed actually. Night!" 

Dallon all but pushes him out the door, ignoring the guy's grumbled curses. Closing the door lightly behind him, Dallon sighs quietly and turns to face Brendon. He's nervous. Has this completely wrecked their frienship?

"I can totally make better pizza than this."

"Oh, really?" 

Brendon's voice is muffled by his mouthful of pizza, and Dallon snickers quietly. 

"Yeah, duh. Want me to make some sometime? Could even teach you if you wanted!" 

Maybe Brendon's trying a little too hard, and Dallon knows the lightness in his voice is a little forced, but no.

They're fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter su ked, and I'm sorry that it's been so long. Please excuse the typos as I'm posting this from my phone and it takes forever.
> 
> Um, yeah. I'm writing again. Thank you all so much for your support, I appreciate it so much. 
> 
> My friend passed away a few days after my note. He was 16 years and 2 months old exactly, and he died on the shortest day of the year. I'm missing him so kuch and really not emotionally stable rn, but writing is a start. I can't promise regular updates but this story remains definitely not abandoned.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a little summary of where we're at

Time passes, as it always does.

 

Gerard and Frank are awkward with each other for, what, four days, Mikey counts? And then everything is back to normal, as if the bedroom-floor-cuddling-thing had never happened and Frank had never confessed anything. 

They go to visit Ray and Christina, and Frank’s parents visit again, but nothing of real substance happens. Sure, Frank won’t speak for a few hours after he goes to collect Mikey from Pete and Patrick’s with a red mark on his cheek, but he gets over it- with more than a little help from Gerard, Mikey thinks. 

The two of them grow closer every day and despite his urge to meddle, Mikey doesn’t try to match-make. Well, he does. But not enough to tip off Gerard to Frank’s feelings, and definitely not enough for Frank to be anything but hesitantly grateful. 

Gerard’s speaking more, too. His stuttered words become less of a massive thing and more something of happy, positive progress. The nightmares are far less common, too. It’s good. They’re good.

 

Dallon and Brendon are good. Really good, because Brendon’s stopped pining over Ryan- well, mostly- and maybe, just maybe, Dallon thinks that Brendon is over the strange young man from the record store. Work has become a lot less awkward with this, and better for it. 

Brendon still pretty much hero-worships Ross, though, but Dallon has been able to let go of his jealousy. It’s adorable, really. Really. Everything Brendon does is adorable, let’s be honest here. 

Their routine doesn’t change much. Brendon will make breakfast while Dallon complains, they’ll walk to work, walk home from work, and spend the evening either with Spencer, the other guys, or just together watching a movie or baking or whatever. 

More often than not they’ll fall asleep on the couch and although it’s slightly uncomfortable, Dallon knows that it’s worth it. They’re close- really close. Close to the point where Dallon so badly wants to think that there’s something more than friendship there. 

 

Patrick and Pete are- hard to describe at the moment, for both of them. Patrick doesn’t know how to feel about his the blond youth who has been nothing but amazing to him, and Pete is quietly freaking out over the whole FEELINGS thing. He’s not really in the best place at the moment.

The still unnamed band is flourishing. They’ve written a couple of songs- amazing, wonderful, original songs with Pete’s ridiculous lyrics and Patrick’s ridiculous voice- and Andy and Joe have both formed a strong bond with Patrick. It took him a while to get used to them, a while to trust them, but he likes them. A lot. 

They’ve been trying to get a gig somewhere, a show, but none of Pete’s old friends will book them. Pete maintains that it’s not the fact that their lead singer is a slave- but it is. It really is. 

Pete’s started to look into the process of freeing a slave. It’s long and expensive and fucking arduous sounding, but he’s going to keep trying whenever Patrick’s not looking. He doesn’t want to give the kid false hope if he can’t do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yep i'm scatty and forgetful and kind of had to make this chapter just to have a thing to start with, make sure I know what i'm doing.. sorry that it sucks...
> 
> your support means the world to me. thank you all so much, I appreciate every kind word, thank you so much.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sadness? annoying mikey? baking?
> 
> :)
> 
> I didn't think the 0.72 seconds of Bucky's face in the leaked Civil War trailer would make me completely lose my shit, but it did.

“No, we are not calling this the Joe Trohman Show. That is the stupidest name you’ve suggested so far, and dude, you’ve come up with some pretty dumb shit.”

 

“Better than your idiot ideas, Hurley. Straightedge Squad is way dumber- what are we, a drug-free version of Suicide Squad?”

 

“Pft. At least I’ve come up with some original ideas! God Hates Figs is complete plagiarism off Parks and Rec. I don’t care how politically relevant it is, we are NOT getting sued!”

 

Pete exchanges a brief smile with Patrick as their band mate’s bickering is within earshot. One day they’ll come up with a name that A) everyone agrees with and B) isn’t completely moronic.

 

(Pete still wants to call the band Arma Angelus, but he really doesn’t want them to end up the same way his last band named that did- with none of the members except Pete and Andy on speaking terms with each other. That’d be way too awkward, and he likes Patrick way too much to fight with him.)

 

“I kind of like the superhero thing though. Joe, you’re a hipster, what’s a vintage comic we can steal our name from?”

 

Trohman’s scandalized yell at Andy’s accusation makes Patrick burst into stifled giggles. The bleach blond smirks at that and opens the door without knocking, holding it open for Patrick to go through. A muttered “ladies first” by Pete causes the other boy to faux-glare at him for a moment before bursting into laughter.

 

“What! Just because I have a man-bun doesn’t mean I’m a hipster. Jeez. You’re the social justice warrior, you’re way more of a hipster than I am! Oh, hi ‘Trick, hey Pete. Please tell Andy that I’m not a hipster.”

 

“C’mon bro- sorry, but, you’ve even got the lame ass glasses. Don’t even try to argue.”

 

“Argh!”

 

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Joe stalks over to his guitar and collapses onto an amp, ‘fro bouncing as he goes. Andy snickers at that and follows him, patting the sulky boy on the head before taking his place behind the drums. Shrugging a shoulder at Patrick, Pete goes to join them before Patrick pulls him aside for a moment.

 

“I have a new idea for those lyrics you showed me a while back- can I go through that before we start?”

 

Nodding, Pete feels the tension from the day slip away as Patrick’s sweet voice fills the room. He’s been so fucking off lately- fighting off a cold from going out in the rain to find Dallon, not sleeping much lest the nightmares he’s been experiencing come again, and trying to ignore the creeping wave of depression that’s hitting him. He’d been so _good_ before, happy and relaxed and cheerfully ignoring the rainbow of pills in the bathroom cabinet. Patrick’s helped him, and still is helping him, he thinks- and he needs to stay strong for Patrick.

 

Patrick deserves that much at least. The beautiful teen doesn’t deserve Pete’s mood swings and tired snappishness that come with sinking back into the melancholy grey.

 

“Was that good?”

 

Pulling away from his thoughts, Pete realizes that he hasn’t heard a single note the other teen has sung.

 

“It was wonderful.”

 

~~~

 

“What?”

 

Gerard is beaming at him, eyes alight. The black haired boy nods rapidly, practically vibrating with excitement.

 

“You want to draw me?”

 

“Yes!”

 

The whispered affirmation brings a matching smile to Frank’s face. Gerard is scribbling frantically now, dark hair falling in his face as he does. He needs a haircut, Frank thinks distantly, but the thought of going out in public and trying to find someone who will be okay with helping a slave is exhausting. He turns his attention to the words Gerard has written and can’t help his smile.

 

‘It’s not like I haven’t drawn you before because I have like heaps but I want to draw you properly!!!!!’

 

The numerous exclamation marks are so unnecessary and so very _Gerard_ that Frank snickers. Gerard raises his eyebrows quizzically at the other teen’s response and Frank realizes he’s still looking for an answer.

 

“Um, yeah, sure? Do you want me to, like, pose or something?”

 

It’s Gerard’s turn to snicker now and he shakes his head.

 

“Just stay still.”

 

Obeying Gerard’s (spoken!) words, Frank sits lightly on the couch and waits for Gerard to settle himself on the bean bag before freezing. The only sound in the room is the scratching of Gerard’s pencil. It’s the best type of quiet, Frank thinks to himself, and has to push down the urge to smile or sigh or do something else incriminating. This is nice. This is very nice.

 

“Hey!”

And the quiet is interrupted by Mikey. The blond youth bounds into the room with way too much enthusiasm then pauses when he realizes what’s happening. A teasing smile makes its way onto his face and Frank steels himself to be mocked.

 

“Draw me like one of your French girls!”

 

Huh.

 

How does Mikey even know about that movie, what the fuck, Ray and Christina’s taste in films leaves something to be desired…

 

Gerard is clueless about the reference but Frank narrows his eyes dramatically at Mikey, glowering as the blond youth doesn’t bother to contain his laughter.

 

“I’m so funny, holy shit. Do we have that movie? No? Maybe we could borrow it to explain something to Gerard-“

 

“No!”

 

Frank’s command is made somewhat redundant as Gerard ‘shhh’s him crankily- which only makes Mikey laugh more.

 

“Geez, Frank, stay still! You’re such a bad model, c’mon…”

 

“Shu’ up.”

 

Despite every effort to keep his face still, Frank is still glared at by Gerard and he resigns himself to staying silent. Fuckin’ Mikey, honestly.

 

Only a few more minutes pass before Gerard’s finished, and Frank spends all of them staying as still as possible. Mikey spends them laughing. Of course.

 

“Done!”

 

Rushing to show the picture to Frank, the black haired youth looks on nervously as Frank’s eyes scan over the picture.

 

Frank doesn’t even have to lie when he says how amazing it is. Gerard’s talented as fuck, that’s for sure- how good could he be with lessons?! An idea starts to form in the teen’s mind and he smiles to himself.

 

~~~

 

Why the hell did he agree to this?!

 

“Why the hell did I agree to this?!”

 

Dallon is absolutely _covered_ in flour. His black jeans will never be the same after he spilled butter on them, there’s brown sugar in his hair and he’s dribbled golden syrup down his front.

 

They’re only halfway through the recipe. How many more items of his clothing are going to be destroyed?!

 

“Because you love me. Now shut up and add the eggs.”

 

Of course Brendon is completely spotless, the little shit. He’s smiling smugly, safe from food in his position in front of the laptop holding the recipe. Dallon _would_ throw an egg at him, but he really doesn’t want to risk hitting his laptop.

 

“How many eggs? The yolk and the white? To what mixture?”

 

Sighing dramatically, Brendon rolls his eyes and shoots Dallon and exasperated glare.

 

“One. Now hurry up, I’m going to smash them over your head if you don’t stop asking stupid questions.”

 

“You won’t.”

 

The snort of laughter as a response to his statement makes Dallon laugh, and he almost drops the egg in the process. Shit.

 

“Why the hell not?”

 

Brendon’s response is indignant (once he’s stopped laughing, of course). The chestnut-haired youth’s cynical expression is enough to make Dallon snicker, so he waits before responding triumphantly,

 

“Because you love me!”

 

The other teen is quiet for a moment, long enough for Dallon to freak out internally and think that he’s fucked up again, but the eventual smile on Brendon’s face helps his lungs to start working again.

 

“Hm, true. Mix that shit and put it in the dish, yeah? Then pour the other shit over it.”

 

And, yep, the taller teen is freaking out internally again. Brendon loves him?

 

Platonically, of course, his mind reminds him, but the simple affirmation from Brendon is enough to stop him from minding about being bossed around and leaves him floating on air for pretty much the rest of the day.

 

~~~

 

“Frank, don’t! You’re going to burn your stupid face if you try and eat it now.”

 

Brendon practically has to fend of Frank with the serving spoon as Dallon places the pudding on the table. The fruit of their labours is fresh out of the oven and just about ready for the far too large amount of people gathered in their apartment.

 

(Dallon and Brendon really need to stop having friends. Patrick and Pete, Mikey, Gerard and Frank are over for dinner, of course- lazy shits- and they brought Joe and Andy, so Dallon saw fit to invite Spencer as well and of course Brendon wanted Ryan and Jon to come. There’s barely room to breathe in the crowded room, but hey, friends are pretty cool.)

 

“But butterscotch pudding is my favourite!”

 

“Frank, you’re not twelve anymore, stop acting like it. Geez. You guys are the worst dinner guests ever.”

 

“You shouldn’t have invited us over then!”

 

“Joe, we didn’t even invite you.”

 

“Well, Patrick did!”

 

Sharing an exasperated smile with Brendon, Dallon proudly takes off the lid of the dish and grins when the entire room becomes silent.

 

“Dessert is served.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know how to end it arghhhhh
> 
> the recipe for brendon and dallon's pudding is:  
> http://www.taste.com.au/recipes/15762/butterscotch+self+saucing+pudding


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry I haven't updated for so long everything is weird at the moment i'm weird i'm not really functioning or writing very well but yeah. #notsureifgriefordepressionlol
> 
> this chapter is very much pete-focused, sorry, so it's pretty short but yeah.
> 
> there are references to drugs in this chapter. sorry.
> 
> oh and I can't remember what season it is and cba to read through to try and see, so for the purpose of this chapter, it's getting close to summer.

Shit shit shit _shit_ today is not going to be a good day.

 

 

He knows it the second he opens his eyes and it’s still dark, even though he left his window open in a childish fit of excitement that the weather is warming. It’s cold as fuck in his room but he doesn’t really care. Doesn’t really care about anything right now.

 

 

He doesn’t even bother trying to get back to sleep. He knew it was coming, he’s been coming down the high, of sorts, that comes from the manic, for the last couple of days, but it’s always a surprise when the fog sets in and he blanks.

 

 

And he was so _happy._

_So fucking happy with the band and Patrick and everything so fucking happy._

 

 

He wasn’t, not really. Or was he? He’s never sure when he’s like this. The past gets almost as foggy as the present and he hates the way he can’t remember stupid shit that he should be able to remember, what the fuck, what is wrong with him?

 

 

Why is he like this?

 

 

He’s been trying his best to smile and laugh and sleep at night but everything is not okay. Nothing is okay. Nothing is ever okay, why isn’t it okay? His life should be okay. He has Dallon and Frank, and Gerard and Mikey and Brendon and Joe and Andy and maybe, just maybe, he has Patrick. But Patrick’s not okay, is he?

 

 

Patrick isn’t okay. How could Patrick be okay? He slows his breathing and listens carefully, trying to pick up whether he can hear the muffled whimpers of the nightmares that he _knows_ have stopped. Maybe Patrick is okay. The blond boy looked so happy last night, surrounded by people he loves and eating that fucking gorgeous looking pudding that somehow Brendon managed to school Dallon into creating. (The dessert Pete didn’t even try to eat. He didn’t have any appetite for it, never does when he’s like this.)

 

 

But how could Patrick be _happy,_ oh God, when he was still fucking _owned_ by the fuck-up Pete is, of all, people?!

 

 

Maybe the logical part of him knows that he needs to take his meds, needs to tell someone, do _something_ before he does something stupid like taking a handful of the iridescent pills in the bathroom cabinet. But he’s angry at himself now, the anger almost breaking through the fog. _Almost._ Right now, he doesn’t want to be awake or asleep. Or, like, _alive._

 

 

Has Patrick noticed the pills? What if Patrick noticed the pills? Worry mixed with fear mixed with complete and utter disinterest surges through him for a moment before he shrugs inwardly. He doesn’t care, honestly. So what if Patrick would be worried or curious or confused or whatever. He doesn’t care.

 

 

Can’t bring himself to care about anything right now, except how much of a fucking fuck-up he is.

 

 

His phone buzzes on the floor a couple of metres away, lighting up the room and kind of hurting his eyes. He doesn’t want to look at it, who knows who would be texting him at this fucking hour. It’s late as fuck, early as fuck, whatever. It doesn’t matter to him.

 

 

All he knows is that he’s not good right now, worse than he has been for a long time, and he can’t bring himself to fucking _do_ anything about it.

 

 

So he’ll just sit here. Just for a little while, he promises vaguely to himself, then he’ll text Frank and get Frank to drag him out of this shit, or at least drag him into taking his meds. But not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as a note: I do not have bipolar, but I have tried my best to write a realistic portrayal of the disorder. if I messed up, please pull me up. there's a lot of self-hatred in this, and although Pete thinks of himself as a worse person because of what he's going through, i really don't want to send that message to anyone with bipolar or depression or anything. I hope you're okay and if you're not okay, I hope you are very soon. please stay safe.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to tjstar for being really cool. and being, like, an amazing writer and wonderful translator (there are russian people reading this fic! Russian! how cool is that!) and just a really awesome person in general! it's thanks to her that i'm writing again, so lots of love to her!

“Art lessons? You want to get him art lessons?!”

 

 

Frank glares stubbornly back at Mikey. He’s not budging on this. Why did he even think that he would need to ask Mikey’s permission, anyway? It’s totally a good idea. Gerard will _love_ it.

 

 

“So you don’t think he’s good now? Is that what you’re saying?”

 

 

A single raised eyebrow is all that it takes to make Mikey smirk. The blond youth knows how much Frank loves Gerard’s drawings, loves the exaggerated features and the sharp figures Gerard scrawls all over the notepad.

 

 

He’s due for a new one soon, Frank thinks absently, and resolves to drag the dark haired boy down to the mall soon. They can drop in at Dallon and Brendon’s work. Gee would love that. And they can get ice cream or some shit on the way back, and laugh at the weird combination of flavors the quiet teen is bound to choose.

 

 

“I think- and know- that he’s fucking amazing. But I really think he’d enjoy it.”

 

 

It’s Mikey’s turn to raise an eyebrow. He’s way better at that than Frank is, that’s not even fair. Feeling a need to state his case (because for a kid of like fourteen, fifteen, whatever, Mikey is very good at seeing through Frank’s bluster and moodiness), Frank continues to speak, words falling over each other a little.

 

 

“I have this friend, Gabriel, who runs these really amazing classes down at the local high school. They’re not expensive and all the materials and stuff are provided, yeah? Gee would love it.”

 

 

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?”

 

 

So what if he has?

 

 

Frank is totally ready to get all defensive, because yes he has put a lot of thought into this but it’s pretty obvious really it’s not like Gerard hasn’t made his love for art completely and utterly obvious, come on. Just because he’s a complete dickhead doesn’t mean he hasn’t noticed how Gerard borrows his laptop and stares at Google Images of abstract paintings and comic book characters and weird clay things until the battery is gone.

 

 

He notices a lot about Gerard. Too much, probably, for someone in their situation, but whatever. There’s no harm in _noticing._

 

 

“He’s been speaking so much lately and I really think interacting with some new people will be good for him. Did you see him with Andy last night? He’s so much more confident now, and he’s speaking more and I think he’ll like it. I know he’ll like it.”

 

 

Mikey smirks. That fucking smirk, oh God. The teen speaks with the most ridiculously

 

 

“Gee will love it. If this is some ploy to buy his affections, you’re totally going about it the right way!”

 

 

“That’s not what it is! At all!”

 

 

“I know! But you’re so funny when you’re acting all defensive!”

 

 

~~~

 

 

Brendon’s at the counter, leaning against a rack of CDs as he talks to Ryan. They’re working today and he couldn’t be happier- the store is quiet so he can wander around aimlessly and annoy everyone else. Not that he’s annoying, of course.

 

 

He totally is. He’s proud of himself.

 

 

“Do you ever stop talking?”

 

 

Ryan’s question is disinterested, his words soft and lilting. He’s got a beautiful voice, Ryan does- taken, Brendon reminds himself with a sigh.

 

 

He’s pretty much over his crush. Kind of.

 

 

“No! Never! There’s nothing for me to do, so you can’t blame me for talking. C’mon.”

 

 

“Yes, I can. Sweep the floor or something. Stack CDs. I don’t care.”

 

 

This apparent apathy is just a façade, Brendon remains himself optimistically. Teasing is a natural part of any friendship.

 

 

Friendship. Friendship! He has friends that live more than a hundred metres away from him! Cool, interesting friends who run CD stores and possibly smoke weed and have really cool tastes in music!

 

 

It’s just exciting.

 

 

“Dallon already swept it twice and Jon’s stacking CDs. I think he’s going to punch me if I don’t leave him alone for a little while. Well, maybe not punch me. He’s way too nice for that.”

 

 

Debating that for a moment, Brendon is pleasantly surprised when Ryan snickers quietly at his words. Score!

 

 

“He’d probably just give you the disappointed look until you feel bad. He’s real good at that.”

 

 

“Very true, very true.”

 

 

Somehow the chestnut haired youth is quiet for a few minutes, fiddling with the guitar picks on display, before Ryan speaks up again.

 

 

“You know, I think I have a CD you’d like. Uh, you sing like him, anyway.”

 

 

Ryan’s heard him sing? Ryan’s heard him sing!

 

 

 

A grin spreads on Brendon face as he nods excitedly, trying to push down the excitement. He’s practically vibrating in place by the time Ryan wanders over to the shelf at the back and fishes out a glossy black CD case. The battered CD player takes a while to wake up but it’s completely worth it.

 

 

The first song starts with the soft hum of a brass band swinging in the background and the quiet shuffle of drums. Nice, nice. Very nice. Ryan is humming along next to him, swaying slightly.

 

 

It’s the voice in that catches Brendon’s attention. Sure, the backing is sweet and sultry, drawing the listener in, but the gorgeous tones of the singer are what makes him grin. And Ryan says that he sounds like _this?_

 

 

“It’s Frank Sinatra. Have you heard of him?”

 

 

“Not a lot of chances to.”

 

 

His throwaway comment makes Ryan frown so Brendon backtracks quickly, trying and failing to drag his attention away from the beautiful music.

 

 

“I mean, no, thank you so much for showing this to me.”

 

 

“It’s fine, it’s fine…”

 

 

Tapping his fingers absently, Ryan pauses the song and slots the CD back into it’s case.

 

 

“You want to borrow?”

 

 

~~~

 

 

Pete’s acting weird.

 

 

Patrick’s trying not to get worried, trying his best to brush off Pete’s moody silence and trying his best to not feel hurt when Pete doesn’t even try the pancakes he makes for breakfast and trying his best not to notice the way Pete doesn’t look at him, not once, the entire morning.

 

 

But he’s getting worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a quick filler, not my best. also, I have never listened to Frank Sinatra.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhh my internet hasn't been working I've had this chapter done for over a week now i'm so sorry!  
> more pete feelings yay
> 
> oh shit also massive trigger warning for suicidal thoughts!!!!

Not again, not again, why is he like this? Why won’t his fucking head work properly? Now Patrick’s worried about him, or is he, fuck, why does he care? Why is there any point to being worried? There’s no point in anything.

 

No point in anything at all. No point in his continued existence, really.

 

 _Whoa, Nelly,_ the dickhead of a voice in his head snickers. _Little too early for suicidal thoughts, isn’t it?_

 

It’s half past shut the fuck up, all he knows about the time is that it’s too bright in his room but he can’t find the energy to go close the curtains. Oh, and that Patrick made breakfast for him a little while ago and was sad when he didn’t eat it. Was it a little while ago? He doesn’t even give a shit.

 

He’s in bed, staring up at the dumb white ceiling. Boring white ceiling and boring white walls. Why did he choose this dumbass colour scheme? Oh, right, he didn’t choose shit. His parents chose it. Like they choose everything.

 

They didn’t choose Patrick though, did they. No, that was all fucking Brendon and fucking Frank and whatever, whatever. He doesn’t care. Patrick is stuck with him now, neither of them have any choice about that.

 

The voice comes back. As it does. Way too fucking much, god, weren’t his meds supposed to stop that?

 

_It’s not too early for a pill, though. Maybe a couple. Maybe a handful, a bottle, or even better, chuck back some of the bleach in the lower cabinet! That’d really be fun._

Yeah, no. Maybe.He doesn’t know.

 

He hasn’t been bad like this for ages. He was really bad, really really bad but not as bad as this. Or maybe he’s making it more worse in his head. Maybe he’s blowing everything out of proportion like the dickhead he is. Overthinking, making everything way more dramatic than it needs to be. Everyone’s probably so sick of him doing that.

 

_You’re totally right. Everyone totally hates you. Especially Patrick._

 

No, that’s not right. Patrick couldn’t hate him? Could he?

 

Paranoia starts to creep up on him and he rolls over, laying on his stomach and slamming his eyes shut.

 

And then there’s a knock on the door. He’s so not ready for company, so not ready for human interaction, oh God, he doesn’t want Patrick to see him like this. Patrick can’t see him like this.

 

“Pete? Are you in there?”

 

Shit shit shit shit. Oh, no, shit.

 

He’s feeling something now, maybe that’s a good thing? Better than the numb apathy? But he doesn’t think absolute terror and self-loathing are good things.

 

 _Oh, yes, of course they are! C’mon, Petey, don’t you just_ love _feeling like this?_

Shut it.

 

“Sorry if I’m annoying you, but Pete, are you in there?”

 

He clears his throat as quietly as possible and dredges up courage from somewhere.

 

“Yeah, Patrick, I’m just tired, yeah?”

 

He winces. His voice most definitely did not sound anything like normal.

 

“Oh, sorry, I’ll keep quiet, sorry! I’ll leave you alone now, sorry sir!”

 

_Ooooh, look, he’s back to calling you sir!_

 

Well, that’s just the cherry on the top of fucking hell.

 

“It’s alright, little one, don’t worry.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short and bitter as fuck.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who is a piece of shit? i'm a piece of shit!   
> i was sad and then i was lazy and then i went to new zealand please don't hate me
> 
> merry christmas and happy new year :) 
> 
> posting takes forever bc i write on my phone, and then have to copy it out onto my computer.

"The name's Ba, Gabriel Ba, but I assume you all already know that. Hopefully. Be kind of awkward if you had just walked in here. Nobody's just wandered in by accident? No? Good. Well, I'm Gabriel and today we're going to be looking over my plans for our semester together and doing some basic stuff so I can see what sort of level everyone's at. That sound good?"

 

The man standing awkwardly at the front of the classroom-like set up pauses his stammering for a moment and casts his eyes around the room, quickly making eye contact with every eager student.

 

Gerard can hardly believe he's here. Meeting eyes with Gabriel, he beams and is happily surprised when the nervous man smiles back. However, the teacher's smile dims somewhat when his eyes flick down to Gerard's collar.

 

Ah.

 

The way Gabriel looks away sharply after that threatens his mood but Frank's knee pressed into his brings back the smile of the dark haired teen . A reassuring smile from Frank is all it takes for Gerard to be beaming again, staring ahead expectantly and waiting for instructions.

 

"We've got fifteen lessons together, twice a week at this time with a week off next week over Christmas. However, I'm okay with anyone coming in earlier or staying later if you want to finish up some stuff or have a chat with me. Since we're going to be spending a bit of time together, I'd love to get to know you all. Starting with names, if that's okay."

 

As the class introduce themselves one by one, Gerard's eyes and mind wander to his surroundings. He's never seen so many art supplies in one room before- it seems like every drawer and shelf is overflowing with brushes, paints, pencils, canvases and sketchbooks. The walls are adorned with tens of portraits, presumably past students telling from the varying levels of skill. It’s beautiful in its mess, the room is.

 

“I’m Frank and I can’t art for shit, so I’m just gonna watch. This is Gerard.”

 

Not quite brave enough to meet the eyes of the crowded room, the scarred teen smiles at the floor and waves hesitantly at no one in particular. He feels silly once he’s done so but a chubby girl at the next table waves back shyly.

 

“I’m Melanie.”

 

Gerard’s not sure if the blush on her cheeks is from a packet or because of the attention, but he smiles reassuringly at her anyway. Her companion, a lithe blue haired girl, clears her throat and immediately draws the attention of everyone in the room. She’s beautiful, almost intimidatingly so.

 

Wondering briefly if her and Melanie are a couple, Gerard’s eyes fix on the tattoos dotting their skin. Melanie’s are simply cute and colourful, almost cartoon-like. In comparison, those of the other girl are more complex and numerous, complimented by the milky-coffee colour of her skin.

 

“I’m Ashlee.”

 

For a moment Gerard is so, so envious of the way they’ve made their bodies into canvases to showcase the art he loves so dearly, but then he imagines needles and suddenly he’s not so keen. He’s scared of a lot of things, but after one of his past Masters, needles are on his list of things to seriously, seriously avoid. The thin scars on his hips prove it.

 

“Okay, cool. Nice to meet you all. Now, for the first three sessions we’re going to be going over some basics…”

 

“Is it okay that I spoke for you?”

 

Frank’s whisper is warm against Gee’s neck and he nods silently, dragging his attention away from the girls and back to Gabriel as he scribbles a couple of notes down. The relief of his owner is almost palpable as he leans back in his chair, a smile makes its way onto his tense face.

 

He’s not listening to a word the teacher is saying, Gerard notices with a smirk.

 

“You’re all probably going to hate me for this, but today we’re drawing leaves. Yes, leaves.”

 

Reaching under his desk and dragging out a large plastic bag, Gabriel surveys the confused class and clears his throat, nervous.

 

“I’m going to give you a leaf or two and you’re going to sketch it. Pencil only, I don’t want you using any other mediums for this.”

 

“We’re drawing fucking leaves?”

 

A pale, heavyset man on the other side of the class room makes the comment derisively, thick eyebrows drawn in annoyance. Gabriel nods warily, obviously intimidated, and it sends a spike of fear through Gerard as he sees the reaction of the other man.

 

The stranger smiles. Cold, wide and sharp-toothed, he looks like a shark sensing blood far away from shore. He’s happy, satisfied with the fear he’s instilled in the teacher with four words.

 

Gerard’s seen that satisfaction far too many times before and it scares him, God, it scares him.

 

“Dickhead. Geez. I’d rather leaf than draw one myself, but at least I’m not a prick about it.”

 

It’s the blue haired girl who says that, drawing Gerard out of the impending nausea he just knows is coming because oh God, oh God. He turns his gaze to them instead and tries to focus on the way the chubby girl snickers but tries to hide her smile with a small hand.

 

“You can’t even pun, Ash.”

 

Ashley opens her mouth to respond before she notices Gerard’s eyes on them, but before he can feel embarrassed she winks at him.

 

“Let’s move these tables together, yeah?”

 

Ignoring the teacher’s somewhat displeased expression, Gerard watches as Ashley pushes her and Melanie’s table against his and beams at him and Frank. The eyes of both girls are drawn to his collar, yes, but their smiles seem to grow more determined when they meet his eyes again.

 

“It’s lovely to meet you.”

 

~~~

 

“Pete? Can we please go down to the mall and visit Joe?”

 

It’s up to him to find out what’s wrong with Pete, Patrick has decided. The other teen has barely left his room in the past few days, has been eating next to nothing and has just been acting strange. Maybe it’s a bad idea, to try and drag Pete out of this strange, sad mood and possibly annoy or anger him in the process, but Patrick is willing to risk it.

 

It’s upsetting him in ways other than fear for his own safety. He cares about Pete, and only now is he realizing how much, as the other teen hides away from the world and him.

 

“I dunno, ‘Trick, I’m pretty tired today.”

 

He can hear the guilt in Pete’s voice from his position pressed up against the door to the bedroom.

 

“Maybe later, then? Sorry, it’s just that we’ve been in for a couple of days and I can’t really do much in here…”

 

The blond youth lets his voice trail off and he hears Pete exhale in defeat.

 

“I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

 

~~~

 

How is he meant to face the outside world when he feels this shit? It’s a bad day in a series of awful ones, but Pete’s still having trouble finding the energy to drag himself out of bed. He’s grey today, he decides as he pulls a hoodie over pajama pants that can definitely pass as normal, healthy, sane human clothing.

 

He’s a little lighter grey than the past few days, when all he’s been able to do is stare at the ceiling and wish he was hanging from it, but still. Maybe this means Patrick cares a little, maybe Patrick wants to help drag him out of the depths of his depression.

 

 _Don’t be fucking ridiculous,_ the voice in his head snickers.

_He’s probably just bored as fuck because you’re keeping him here. He’s tethered to you, and you’re fucking useless._

Useless, that’s about right, Pete thinks to himself as he open the bedroom door and winces at the brightness of the room. Patrick’s smiling face is almost painful to look at- happy to see him maybe?

 

 _Or not_ , the voice in Pete’s head snarks.

 

“What have you got there?”

 

He’s surprised at the curiosity he can muster up when he sees the newspaper-wrapped packages Patrick is holding.

 

“I baked Joe and Andy some Christmas cookies, was that okay? I asked you about it first, yesterday?”

 

Did he? Of course Pete doesn’t fucking remember. For a moment a little bit of happy pride for Patrick slips through Pete’s haze but it’s gone soon enough, replaced by dread. He fucking hates Christmas. His family loves the silly season, and never fail to make it completely awful. When he lived at home he used to sneak out as soon as his parents were tipsy enough on eggnog and go find Dallon or Frank or Andy or Joe or literally anyone else, anyone who he wasn’t related to by the blood he’d love to spill out of his veins right now-

 

Maybe this Christmas will be better. He vaguely remembers calling his parents and telling them to stay away, and that thought is almost enough to bring a smile to his face.

 

By the time Pete drags himself out of his thoughts- no easy feat- they’re halfway down the stairs.

 

~~~

 

Patrick’s whistling to himself happily. It’s hard for him to contain his pride right now. He managed to get Pete out of his- _their-_ apartment, and into the outside world. The other teen is obviously lost in his thoughts, but at least he’s up. And smiling a little, as he meet Patrick’s eyes, and the blond teen has to fight to keep his blush down.

 

Maybe this is how a crush must feel, how Brendon feels when he looks at the pretty boy in the record store. Or maybe he’s just worried about Pete. Patrick has missed him.

 

It’s strange, how brave he feels right now, how he feels like he’s doing something decent and against every instinct in him that tells him to be quiet and stay away and not provoke.

 

“Are we going to get together with the others for Christmas?”

 

It’s a lame attempt at conversation, so when Pete nods the other teen assumes he will leave it at that and let the comforting silence between continue. But then the darker teen coughs quietly and begins to talk.

 

“Yeah, I think so. Frank and Dallon don’t want to go to their parents houses, so yeah. Shit, we haven’t even gotten presents for anyone yet!”

 

~~~

 

Make an effort, Pete tells himself. It’s hard, so hard, to animate his voice and keep some semblance of normality up, but he has to. For Patrick.

 

“I was going to bake some things for the others, maybe we could buy ingredients for that today?”

 

Patrick sounds excited at that prospect, happy- everything Pete’s not and god, why can’t he feel the same? Why can’t he just be normal and human and tune out the awful shit in his head?

 

He realizes too late that Patrick’s saying something as they walk through the doors of the mall.

 

“… teach you how? Brendon’s having some sort of success with Dallon.”

 

“Sorry what was that?”

 

“You could help out with some baking, I could teach you some basics?”

 

How could he say no that hopeful face? Pete feels like shit, tired and snappish and he can’t concentrate on anything, so it’s probably an awful idea, but he never wants to wipe the smile off Patrick’s face.

 

“That sounds fucking wonderful.”

 

~~~

 

“For fuck’s sake, Bren, I don’t even like fruit pudding. You don’t even like fruit pudding.”

 

“I don’t care. We’re making this and we’re putting sultanas in it. And a coin. Oh, and do we have any wishbones lying around?”

 

Brendon moves to search the bench and Dallon fights the urge to facepalm.

 

“No. Dude. Who does that? And why would you want to put a bone in a Christmas pudding?!”

 

Their bickering is playful as Brendon ransacks the cupboards and Dallon watches on, smiling indulgently.

 

Neither of them had realized how close Christmas was- Dallon has a sneaking suspicion that Brendon had no idea what the year was, let alone the month or the day until he asked Dallon, uncharacteristically quiet. The chestnut haired teen had immediately demanded they make a traditional pudding for the friends he obviously assumed they would be spending Christmas with.

 

He wasn’t wrong.

 

It saddens Dallon a little to think of how none of them will be spending the day with their families- Frank and Pete avoid their parents as much as possible and his own parents are vacationing with their church. He’s not quite sure if he’d want to see them- asshole parents, but parents. He misses them sometimes.

 

Dallon knows that Gerard and Mikey don’t have parents anymore. Brendon mentioned it once, quietly telling them that all they had was their before she died. Patrick doesn’t have anyone left, either.

 

And then there’s Brendon- he’s never spoken of his family. Even if Dallon hadn’t seen the other teen’s documents and read about their deaths, it would be safe to assume that he doesn’t have anyone.

 

But he doesn’t want to think about that now. It’s hard to swallow, the thought of not having family.

 

Dallon smiles suddenly, drawing a curious look from Brendon. Brendon does have family, he thinks. Them.

 

“You do know how many germs and stuff there are on coins, right? I will lose my shit if I eat one by accident.”

 

“Not even you’re dumb enough to eat a coin. Stop being so negative!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if i like the ending but yeah.
> 
> i planned a big ass rant about this on the plane bc i was bored but can't be assed to write it all out now, so here goes:
> 
> if you're going to write a story about half of the ships are forced to buy the other half of the ships who are slaves by their parents so they can move into their own dwelling, please consider stating that your slave fic was inspired by this fic. or a remix of this fic. i've seen two or three fics that look AWFULLY identical to my own, and i know i don't own this scenario, but it pisses me off. one writer has done THE RIGHT THING and not only stated that their fic is inspired by mine, but came to me and asked whether they should take it down. i said no, because if you're giving this fic some credit, all good. but seriously. i know that my fic is inspired by someone else's, and that it's not the most original thing ever but GEEZ PLEASE PEOPLE I KNOW I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN FOREVER BUT PLS


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> self harm warning!!!! stay safe.

Christmas comes and goes with little fuss. They spend the day in Dallon and Brendon’s apartment, giving and receiving gifts and pigging out on the feast Brendon and Dallon create together.

 

It’s a happy day but a strange one for everyone in the group- Mikey spends one half of the day skyping Christina and Ray and the other half texting them on the phone they sent to him as a present. He misses them badly, but to spend Christmas with his brother and their new friends? He’s never had friends, not proper ones- being homeschooled didn’t really create many opportunities for social interaction, but then again, what school would enroll a slave? It’s so easy to be happy and sociable here.

 

To the blond youth’s surprise, he receives gifts from the other teens- Pete, Dallon and Frank schemed to buy him a bass! Sure, there’s a little voice in the back of his head reminding him that it’s not a big purchase for them, not with their parent’s money, but it’s touching. (So is Pete’s smile and muttered promise to teach him some more.) Patrick’s gift of cookies and Brendon’s present of picks (that he paid for with his own money!) go down well too, but it’s Gerard’s present to his younger brother that brings tears to Mikey’s eyes.

 

Somehow without him noticing, Gee had sketched Mikey with each of his families: with three faceless women (pink hair, scarred cheeks, Mama) and a much smaller Gerard, with Ray and Christina, and finally with Frank and Gerard.

 

-

 

Gerard himself has had the best Christmas he can remember. He can’t remember many Christmases, honestly- it’s been impossible for him to know what year it is, let alone day. But he’s not thinking about that at all now.

 

His hand cramped for most of the day, suffering from the effort put into everyone’s gifts, but it’s a minor annoyance that in no way detracts from the happy, safe atmosphere around him. The teen surprised even himself when he relaxed enough to sing along to a Christmas carol on the radio, immediately silencing the room as they listened to him. The round of applause he received afterwards is somewhat embarrassing- his voice is still suffering from the years of disuse and it’s not like he was singing in tune- but almost as good a present as the art supplies and food heaped upon him.

 

Numerous sketchbooks from Brendon and Dallon, a set of gorgeous watercolours from Frank, more oil pastels than he could ever hope to use from Pete and Mikey and way too many cookies from Patrick. For a moment he was somewhat ashamed by the simplicity of his gifts in return to everyone- but the reception from all made Gerard blush.

 

-

 

Of course, no one is more complimentary than Frank. Frank Iero has just had the best Christmas of his life. That’s a big call to make, maybe, but the teen has never felt so free or loved. Christmas without his parents is the best thing- spending the holiday with his real family, the one he’s _chosen,_ is better than any awkward, drunken Iero gathering.

 

Everyone around him has just been so damn happy (without the influence of alcohol!)- except Pete, who has been unusually withdrawn. Frank chalks his friend’s unhappiness, however, up to being tired or a little bit of seasonal depression. The violets under Pete’s eyes are in full bloom, so maybe Frank will go around to the other teen’s apartment tomorrow and make sure he’s sleeping and taking his pills. Frank finds it hard to worry, though, as he watches his new and old friends laughing together.

 

It’s not like any of them need an excuse to spend the ridiculous allowances their parents give them, so the gifts he receives this year are Frank’s favorites. Pete gives him a new guitar pedal, smiling at Frank’s ecstatic reaction. Dallon and Brendon shower him with CDs, Mikey has baked fudge and Patrick made cookies.

 

Gerard’s gift makes him smile the most though. Pages of doodles- little portraits of him and the others, pictures featuring the weirdest comic book characters he’s ever seen and sketches of scorpions, pumpkins, ghosts, vampires and everything else creepy they share a love for.

 

Frank’s a staunch atheist, so that’s all Christmas is to him- gifts and family and food. A good day.

 

-

 

It’s been such a good day. He’s had so many good days recently -Brendon’s so damn happy and he can tell it’s rubbing off on everyone around him, adding to the festive atmosphere of their apartment. He’s ‘celebrated’ Christmas before with other Masters, but the gifts they gave him were never as heartfelt or beautiful and what his friends have done for him.

 

He used his own money to buy gifts for his friends- his own money! That he earned all by himself! Dallon set up a bank account for him, and it’s the weirdest thing for him to see that he’s earning money doing something that he loves so much. The chestnut-haired youth texted Jon and Ryan today on Dallon’s phone, littering his messages with emojis and exclamation marks that he received back (from Jon at least- Ryan is _much_ too arty and pretentious for anything other than perfect grammar and Brendon idolizes him for it).

 

-

 

Brendon can’t stop smiling, and therefore Dallon can’t either. So are Frank and Gerard, and Pete and Patrick. Maybe it’s strange that he’s grouping them together in his head, pairing them off and rarely thinking of himself without the chestnut haired teen by his side, but Dallon doesn’t care. They’re both happy and it’s Christmas.

 

It’s been the weirdest day ever, not going to mass in the morning and not spending every moments with his parents. Dallon spends a half hour in the morning praying to make up for missing mass, sitting alone in his bedroom and just thanking his God for giving him his friends and Brendon and everything. He’s not devout, stopped going to church when he moved out, but the tall youth prays.

 

Pete notices him doing this before they eat and catches his eye. For a moment Dallon thinks there’s disdain in his friend’s eyes- Pete doesn’t believe in the whole God thing- but it’s nothing like that. It’s pure exhaustion, but Dallon chalks it up to the late nights Pete so often experiences.

 

-

 

Pete’s tired.

 

Holidays are always bad for him, but this Christmas is… strangely familiar.

 

To a time he’d rather forget but can’t, has to keep dragging up in his head again and again and again and again and yes, sure, they’re all laughing, his friends are happy and he is too, but he’s not. Not in the slightest.

 

-

 

The slightest things are making Patrick so damn happy right now, but he’s worried. About Pete, about the way Mikey is glued to his phone, about how Gerard’s voice cracks when he sings. Despite this, his smile has barely left his face all day.

 

Christmas is something the blond youth has pretty strong memories of experiencing back when he wasn’t-

 

when he didn’t-

 

when he was free.

 

He feels pretty free now, though, because even though he’s not with his blood family, he’s with a family of sorts. A weird family, that are _very_ good at gifts (records from Brendon and Dallon, beautiful drawings from Gerard, food from Mikey, a loop pedal from Frank and an amp from Pete) and very bad at bringing up the topic of _anything at all related to the way Pete’s eyes are cast down and mouth permanently turned down at the sides._

-

 

They pass out at the end of the day, halfway through the cheesy made-for-TV movie Frank puts on as a joke. Dallon and Brendon are splayed out on the floor, the shorter teen’s head on the other’s stomach, but no one comments on that. Mikey dozes in the armchair, curled up like a cat with his arm resting on Gerard’s head. Gerard leans against the armchair, fast asleep and in no way noticing what his presence is doing to Frank, who is unable to sleep a few centimetres away on the couch. Patrick is near them, napping.

 

And Pete?

 

Pete’s wide awake, hiding in the bathroom and attempting to staunch the blood from the thin lines he’s made across his thighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah it has been a long time! i've had half of this chapter sitting in my folders for a while now, so i'm so sorry to only now finish it!
> 
> pete's not doing too good! dallon and brendon are getting closer! frank is lowkey freaking out! gerard and mikey are happy and super chill! and patrick is a little bit scared
> 
> thank you all for your wonderful comments. i'm so sorry to not reply to them, i just want you to know that they mean so much to me. 
> 
> thanks for sticking by this fic. i'm not sure if i'm going to be updating frequently, but i want you all to know that this fic is definitely not abandoned.
> 
>  
> 
> ((wooooah it's been over 8 months??? honestly wtf me)


	37. Chapter 37

“Mikey, sweetie, you okay?”

 

“Little dude, you gotta breathe. C’mon, in and out, in and out. Yeah, you got it. All good.”

 

“Ray, honey, can you get him water?”

 

Nodding silently, the man makes his way to the kitchen as quietly as he can. He can’t take his eyes off the pair of them- his beautiful, wonderful wife with furrows in her brow and a scared set to her shoulders, and the thin blond boy who is trembling almost as bad as the first day they set eyes on him.

 

His wife’s murmurs soundtrack his walk and cover the sound of his footsteps, but the sound of the cupboard door shutting is loud enough to make Mikey jump.

 

Christina shoots her husband an anxious look at this and he does his best to silently reassure her, eyes locked on hers as she drags her hand up and down, up and down, up and down the shaking shoulders of the crying child.

 

“Sweetie, listen to me. Mikey?”

 

Returning with the water, Ray kneels by the boy, trying his best to come across as little of a threat as possible. Mikey gets scared sometimes by the curly-haired man towers over him, so Ray tries his best to stoop.

 

“You’re here with us, you’re safe, you’re okay. C’mon, kid, you’re okay.”

 

It’s long past midnight. They’ve been up since Chrissy woke to the sound of quiet sobbing and immediately roused Ray, not needing to pause for an explanation before rushing out to the living room.

 

Mikey takes the water and raises it to his lips, tears still slipping from his hazel eyes.

 

He’s been getting a little better, lately, but this doesn’t come as a surprise. Attacks like this aren’t anything unusual, but they’re usually not this bad.

 

Mikey has been living with the couple for just over a month now but it feels like only yesterday they carried him home. The tiny blond has slowly gotten used to Christina and Ray, not shying away from their touch, but he’s wary of them sometimes. Not now, though.

 

He still hasn’t spoken to them. Neither Christina nor Ray wish to know what makes him so reluctant to voice his thoughts.

 

They suspect it has something to do with the bruises on his wrists and slowly-healing scars on his back, but neither of them want to talk about that. Every morning and evening they refresh the bandages covering his purpling skin. It’s yet to become a chore.

 

“Mikey?”

 

The boy’s sobs have slowed and now only the occasional tear falls from his wide hazel eyes. He’s stopped shaking, too, much to the couple’s relief. It gets scary for them- they can’t begin to imagine what it’s like for him. The way the kid gasps for breath in a panic, it sounds like he’s dying. It’s terrifying.

 

Maybe he’s asthmatic? Ray makes a mental note to talk this over with Chrissie, or at least google it.

 

“You okay?”

 

Mikey nods.

 

It’s silent for a moment. Christina opens her mouth to speak, whether to offer platitudes or support, but she closes it again when Mikey takes a breath, seeming to prepare himself for something.

 

What comes out of the boy’s mouth is a cracked whisper, an almost inaudible utterance that Ray and Christina have to strain their ears to understand.

 

“Thank you.”

 

~~~

 

He’s asleep again in half an hour, so diminutive in between the cushions and blankets Christina has piled on the couch he sleeps on. Christina’s gone to bed- she has to work tomorrow, and the late nights have taken their toll on her. She wouldn’t trade the shadows under her eyes for anything, though.

 

So Ray watches the boy. He is silent in sleep, breathing so soft Ray has to fight back the impulse to check if the kid is still alive. The protectiveness that wells up in his chest at this surprises the man, and makes him wonder- is this what it’s like? To be a parent?

 

He decides he likes the feeling, strange as it is. The feeling of responsibility, of overwhelming love and affection and a need to protect, no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh it's so short oops but??? fluff??? idk i'm not a parent idk how accurate all this is but i have so many ray feels bc he is definitely the band dad, so no matter what universe they're all thrown in, he's going to try his best to look after everyone.   
> ok that sentence gave me too many emotions yeah no thanks gabby out
> 
> hope you liked this! i'm going to say fortnightly updates- idk if i'll stick to it, but i'm going to try my best!


End file.
